


Downfall

by labellebeaucoup



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellebeaucoup/pseuds/labellebeaucoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz meets Olivia while running for governor. Can their budding friendship turn into something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N – This is a somewhat AU story. While Fitz isn’t running for president, he is running for governor of California when he meets Olivia. I’m not sure if I will have Fitz run for president in this story and if I do, it would most likely be in a sequel.**

**For anyone unfamiliar with my writing, I tend to find songs that either inspire me during my writing process or that I feel have a strong connection with what I am writing. These songs become part of the story’s “soundtrack” that I later post on my facebook or twitter – both links are on my profile.**

**This particular story was inspired by a couple that I know and the song that I felt connected the most with it was “Be My Downfall” by Del Amitri.  – G.**

 

_ Downfall _

_ Chapter One: Things We Know We Shouldn’t Do _

 

“We really need to start hitting some of these cities hard; getting your name out there and letting people become familiar with your face,” Cyrus Beene announced to his boss, Fitzgerald Grant III.

“We need to show the people normalcy. They’re upset with Ryan because of all the scandals that have taken place during his **_entire_** first term. They want a normal, American family,” Mellie Grant spoke up, smiling at her husband of eighteen years.

“Mellie’s right,” Fitz grinned back, “We should have pep rallies, debates, all the normal stuff, but we also need to plan _normal,_ **everyday** American activities.”

“I’ll work on the pep rallies and debates. You and Mellie can work on the other.” Cyrus grabbed the large, black folder on the desk in front of him. It was stuffed and dwarfed the older man. He had devoted the majority of his time to this campaign, putting his life into getting Fitz successfully through this campaign and gaining Cyrus himself a place as a top aide to the person he believed to be the future governor.

“Cyrus, don’t you think we should coordinate?” Mellie pointed out, standing from her chair and heading in the direction that Cyrus had headed calling behind her to Fitz, “Don’t forget to pick Jerry up from daycare!”

Fitz watched as his wife and friend exited the room. They had both instantly become more invested in this campaign than he had. He wanted to be governor, but he didn’t seem to want it as much as they did.

He slowly stood and turned to grab his jacket. He slung it over his shoulder, it was warm out and he didn’t feel like sweating any more than he already had. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he headed toward the exit. He checked the white, slim phone that seemed to control his life. Mellie had texted a reminder to pick the baby up.

Fitz laughed. She never had trusted him with Jerry and thought she had to leave notes around the house, reminding him that the baby needed fed every two hours and to check his diaper. He hadn’t expected that from Mellie. He never pegged her to be the maternal type. He figured that she was either shockingly maternal or that she didn’t want to deal with the scandal a dead child would bring. He still wasn’t entirely sure of the answer.

When he stepped outside, the bright sun shone harshly, warming his skin and causing him to shield his eyes. He hoped he had a pair of sunglasses in the silver Mercedes-Benz parked in the driveway. If not, it would be a painful twenty minute drive to Jerry’s daycare. He briskly walked to the vehicle and climbed in, turning the keys in the ignition and cranking on the a/c before searching for his sunglasses.

After finding a pair in the center console, he slid them on his face and put the car in reverse, quickly spinning out of the drive and onto the highway. He fumbled with the radio station, annoyed at the amount of traffic on the roads. He switched through several stations before growing frustrated and turning the radio off.

He relaxed some when he finally found himself outside of the city limits and well on his way to the small, suburban town that held Jerry’s daycare. His grip on the steering wheel loosened and his breathing became even, deeper once more. He despised driving in the crowded lanes of Sacramento.

He began humming “Livin’ On a Prayer” to himself; having finally found a station that he was okay with. Rain began falling in a slow, deliberate pattern as he continued west; adding some gloom to the otherwise beautiful day. As he was passing a large, fenced in high school that resembled a prison more than a school, he noticed a cobalt blue Challenger sitting on the side of the road.

He turned the hazard lights on in his vehicle and slowly eased in behind the Challenger. It couldn’t harm his image to help a stranger in need. He put the vehicle in park and climbed out, slamming the door behind him. He neared the car, noticing that the back tire was flat.

A young, dark-skinned woman stood by the trunk, her arms crossed and mud splattered on her pale blue dress pants. She glanced at Fitz, jamming her hands in her pockets and watching the older man for any indication of foul play.

“Need some help?” He offered, shuffling toward her and sticking a hand out, “Fitz and you are?”

“Olivia.” She shook his head and brushed a thick, lock of black hair from her eyes. She glanced from the deflated tire to the man in front of her and back.

“If you don’t mind,” She finally answered, deciding to take a chance on this stranger who had stopped instead of sped past her like so many others before him.

“Do you have any tools?” She moved out of the way and popped the trunk for him, allowing him to grab the bag full of basic necessities for this task. He searched around the trunk a little longer than she expected it to take and she began to get nervous about allowing him to help.

“Can I help you find something?” She took a step closer, trying to peer around his shoulder.

“Do you have a doughnut in here?” Her eyes widened and a snort escaped her lips. She wasn’t familiar with the maintenance of vehicles, but felt certain that asking for a doughnut was an odd request.

“A doughnut?” She repeated, waiting for him to correct her. When he nodded, she bit her lip and looked in the trunk once more. She searched for several moments, coming up empty handed with a look of confusion that eclipsed that of hers moments ago.

“A spare tire?” Fitz finally elaborated, taking pity on her. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ as she pointed to the round circle of rubber that lay on the other side of the vehicle. She had already dragged it out and was planning on replacing the blown tire with that one when she realized that she didn’t know how.

“Perfect.” He stood the tire on its side and began rolling it toward the right side of the vehicle. Olivia followed behind, struggling to carry the large bag of tools that Fitz had dragged from her trunk. She watched as he rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his arms and began going to work on her tire.

She watched and handed tools as he asked for them. Other than a misunderstanding about the difference between a tire wrench and a wrench; the two were able to change the tire without much of a problem. Fitz helped her place the tools and the blown tire in her trunk, slamming it shut and wiping the palms of his hands on his pants. Mellie would have a fit when she noticed that he had ruined another pair of pants, but it didn’t bother him.

“Thank you,” She grinned, extending her hand to shake his once more.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.” He looked down at the watch on his wrist and wondered if Jerry’s daycare teacher had called Mellie yet. He was running fifteen minutes late.

“You stopped when no one else bothered, so it’s a big deal in my book,” She winked, leaning against her car and noting the glances he kept stealing at his watch, “And I have kept you from something important.”

“It’s no problem, really,” He assured her, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop his fidgeting. He didn’t like to provoke fights with his wife. He would rather be flying planes into hostile territories again than fight with Mellie.

“Is there any way I can thank you?” He shook his head. He would have loved to stay and talk with her more, but he couldn’t keep Jerry waiting anymore.

“I get it, you’re late. Maybe we can exchange numbers? I’d feel awful about letting you walk away after doing this for me,” She suggested, grinning when he nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket. He handed the touchscreen to the woman in front of him and she quickly typed a number in. Seconds later, a loud ding was heard.

“Great. Now you have my number and I have yours,” She smiled, checking her phone.

“Sure. Call me anytime and we’ll meet up,” He threw out there, nodding at her.

“Just not right now,” She smirked, heading toward the driver side door.

“Any other time, though,” He agreed, walking toward his own vehicle. He waited until she had started her car and safely pulled back onto the highway before entering his own; throwing a hand up when she waved back at him. He watched her go and smiled. He started his vehicle and began the last ten minutes of the trip to the daycare.

He pulled into the parking lot of Tadpole Academy, cringing at the name and the site of a large tadpole looming over the entranceway. He wasn’t a fan of the design or name of the daycare that Mellie had chosen for their son. It was ridiculous.

He climbed out of his vehicle, noting that his and the daycare provider’s were the only ones in the nearly empty lot. He jogged to the entrance and pulled the door open, narrowing his eyes at the lily-pad design of the door handle.

He found Jerry crawling on the large, alphabet rug. He picked his son up, grinning as the tot wrapped his arms happily around his father’s neck. The two Grant men said their goodbyes to the daycare provider and walked back to the vehicle.

 

 

“You were **_fifteen_** minutes late,” Mellie Grant shouted, slamming her silver hairbrush on the wooden vanity as she twisted around to see her husband stepping out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his hips.

“I had problems with the car,” Fitz defended, unwilling to mention that he had stopped to help someone else. Mellie would have jumped on that as a key point to plaster across his campaign until she found out he had stopped to help a woman. Her jealousy knew no bounds.

“I thought you just had it checked out?” She moved toward the bed, yanking the blankets down and climbing onto the soft mattress. She settled in against the pillows and watched Fitz move around the room, dressing in his pajamas.

“I had a blow-out,” He explained, pulling the blue pajama bottoms over his hips and heading toward the nightstand. He unplugged his phone, setting his alarm before sitting it back down. He joined Mellie in their bed; pulling the blankets to his waist and laying on his back.

“That explains the ruination you have made of your pants.” She never was happy about anything unless he was allowing her to run every minute of his life. There were times that Fitz swore to himself Mellie should be the one running for governor.

“Things happen,” He sighed, finally letting the exhaustion creep into his voice. He and Mellie had been playing the perfectly happy, married couple for the last six months and it was tiring. Nothing about their marriage had been perfect since they had Jerry. They had both come to the conclusion that what they had was nothing more than puppy love – it wasn’t the real thing. However the extent of their love neither was willing yet to let go. It made for many painful exchanges. 

“You are such a pig at times,” Mellie scoffed, turning her back to him and closing her eyes. Fitz lay there impatiently, waiting for Mellie’s breathing to slow and even. He didn’t wait long. After he was sure that his wife was sleeping, he tossed the blankets from his body and stood from the bed.

Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, Fitz headed toward Jerry’s room. He cracked the door to the toddler’s room and smiled at the sight of his son sleeping quietly in his crib, his thumb in his mouth. He placed a kiss on the little boy’s forehead and left the room, leaving the door cracked a fraction of an inch. Jerry was afraid of the dark, but Mellie refused to allow the small child to sleep with a nightlight. She thought forcing him into darkness would build character. Fitz disagreed.

He headed toward the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. He sat at the island, savoring the chocolate taste that he craved at the moment. He stared at his phone, warring with himself over what to do. He tentatively reached a hand toward the cellphone before pulling it back in a hurry.

He crammed another bite of cereal into his mouth and slowly chewed. It felt like a ball of lead had taken residence in his lower intestine. He didn’t know that he could feel so guilty about something that seemed so innocent.

He finished his cereal and took the bowl to the sink, washing it and hoping that he would have a clear answer to his predicament once he had finished. That wasn’t the case. He turned back to the counter and took a deep breath. It was now or never.

Picking the phone up, he searched for his contacts and went through them until he found the one he was searching for. His thumb hesitated over the call button before he finally placed it heavily on the screen. After three rings, the person on the other end answered with a friendly hello. Fitz took a heavy breath before responding with:

_“Is this Olivia?”_


	2. From A Table Away

_“Is this Olivia?”_ Fitz stood with his heart pounding in his chest and looked at the bright, green numbers displayed on the microwave above the stove. 12:15. He let off a string of silent curses at the time. She probably thought he was inconsiderate and a slew of other adjectives for calling so late.

“Fitzgerald Grant.” Her breathy voice made him smile and he let go the breath he had been holding in as he leaned back against the counter.

“Is this a good time?” He asked, crossing his legs.

“No. I would say that midnight is as good a time as ever.” Her chuckle eased the tension from his shoulders and caused a laugh to escape him as well.

“I couldn’t sleep,” He admitted.

“So you call a stranger?”

“Not a complete stranger.”

“Fair enough.”

“Can I take you upon that coffee?” He took the plunge, suddenly feeling the need to see her again. It was impulsive and crazy, but he had felt some sense of calm the hour or so he had spent with her earlier.

“Now?” She didn’t bother to hide her disapproving tone and it didn’t shock him. Calling her at midnight with that request was probably starting to sound like a random booty call.

“Not now. Later today. Noon?”

“That sounds better than now.” She laughed, a hearty, genuine laugh.

“Are there even any coffee places open at this time?” He asked, moving to the island and sitting in a stool.

“Probably, but not the kind that politicians or normal citizens go to.”

“You looked me up.”

“It wasn’t hard, _Representative_ Grant,” Olivia drawled, a smirk betraying itself in the tone of her voice.

“I was kind of hoping that wouldn’t make its way into whatever this is.” He rested his elbow on the counter, cradling his head in the palm of his hand and massaging his forehead.

“And what is this?” She probed.

“A frustrated guy looking for a friend?”

“That sounds more like a question than a statement.”

“You are a bit of a hard ass, aren’t you?” The statement came out without a second thought from its speaker. Something about the woman on the other end of the phone made him feel comfortable, as if they had been friends all their lives.

“Law school does that to people.”

“So you’re a lawyer?”

“No. I’m in law school.”

“You never mentioned that before.”

“You never mentioned your job title either.” He grinned, a large, goofy grin. Banter with her was easy and natural.

“I guess there will be plenty to talk about tomorrow…”

“Later today.” She cut him off and he shook his head, amused at her playfulness. He pushed himself away from the counter and walked toward the bay window, staring out at the dark night sky.

“Later today,” He conceded, a yawn escaping involuntarily.

“Isn’t it your bedtime?” She teased, yawning herself.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m not the one yawning.”

“Really? Do you want to be the pot or the kettle?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, _Representative_ Grant.”

“Coming from you, that doesn’t sound that bad.”

“Goodnight,” She laughed.

“Goodnight.” He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face once he ended the phone call and slid the phone into the pocket of his pajama bottoms. His conversation with Olivia had been fun, relaxing.

He sighed and headed back to the room he shared with Mellie. He barely made it to the top stair before his feet froze on the hard wood. He threw one glance at his shut bedroom door and headed in the opposite direction to the den. He wasn’t going to spoil a good night by crawling in bed next to his wife.

 

“You came.” He sounded relived, but tried to cover it by quickly sipping his coffee only to spit the searing liquid out seconds later, leaving a wet patch on his shirt that would surely stain later. He glanced down in dismay and cursed himself. That wasn’t the smoothest move he could make.

“Fitz, it is eleven fifty nine.” She slid into the chair opposite his, nursing a caramel cappuccino.

“Fast watch,” He tried to play it off; tried not to sound so eager.

“Uh huh,” She grinned, sipping her drink.

“Sorry about waking you last night,” He offered at last, trying to start a conversation.

“You didn’t wake me. I was reading. Mid-term is coming up.”

“Right. Law school. How many years do you have left?”

“Two. What about you?”

“What about me?” He watched her face, taking in the way her eyes shone – bright and fierce.

“Your career. Do you think you’re going to win?”

“Is this some interview?” He tried avoiding the question, watching as she barely glanced down. He could tell that she wasn’t one to back down and liked that about her.

“Not an interview. Friend to friend.”

“So we’re friends now?”

“Friendly-acquaintances. I don’t let just _any_ acquaintance call me at midnight,” She winked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her long, stocking glad legs.

“Friends is fine by me,” He laughed, sipping his coffee and, just when she thought he was finished speaking, said: “I don’t know. I have a good team and they’ll probably pull it off.”

“You aren’t sure if you want this.”

“What are you? A mind reader too?” He watched as a small blush covered her cheeks.

“No, but I recognize when someone isn’t sure of themselves.”

“Experience?” He probed, leaning an elbow against the back of his chair and taking an open stance toward her.

“I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be an attorney at first. My dad pushed me toward it and I refused to let myself give it a chance because I had been forced into it. When I stopped being so stubborn, I found that I liked it.” He raised a brow at her, his eyes widening at her confession. How was it possible that he found it easier to relate to someone he barely knew than his own wife?

“My dad forced me into this. I guess I’ve never had the chance to decide if this is something that I would choose for myself…even if I do like it sometimes,” He confided, shrugging and reaching for his coffee cup.

“Sometimes, you have to focus less on what others see of you and more on what you see of yourself.”

He brought his bottom lip under his teeth and began chewing – a nervous habit he had picked up when he was younger. She had a valid point and she had given him better advice than Cyrus or Mellie ever had. She was open and willing to talk, unlike those two.

“Don’t you think this is strange?” He asked, causing her gaze to snap up to meet his, her eyes narrowing.

“Strange?”

“I barely know you, yet I feel like I know you better than anyone else in my life,” He elaborated.

“Because I listen?” She offered as an explanation.

“Probably.” They let the silence take over from there, content to sit and sip their coffee without offering any more words. When they were finished, the walked together toward the large trash bin that sat by the door and threw their cups away. Fitz held the door open for Olivia and they stepped into the warm afternoon sunlight.

“Where are you parked?” Fitz asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks.

“This way.” She motioned to her left and began walking, Fitz falling into step beside her. They strolled down the sidewalk, making small talk and staring at the shop windows. It didn’t take them long to cover the short distance to Olivia’s Challenger.

Once she had unlocked the door, Fitz held it open while she slid into the driver’s seat. She slid her keys into the ignition and looked up at him.

“Thanks for the coffee,” She said, “Even though it was supposed to be _my_ treat.”

“Maybe next time,” He stated, hoping that he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries.

“There’s going to be a next time?” She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

“Probably,” He smirked, shutting her door and walking away. Olivia shook her head, snatched her sunglasses from the passenger seat, and took off down the road.

 

 

“You’re late,” Cyrus greeted the minute Fitz walked through the door, adjusting the sleeves of his blood red shirt.

“I had a thing,” He offered somewhat vaguely as he moved past the older man to the glass doors that led to the conference room

“Your interview was supposed to have started thirty minutes ago.” Cyrus wasn’t letting up. Sometimes he could be as bad as Mellie.

“Cyrus, it’s a taped interview. Not live. No harm in being late,” Fitz shrugged it off, moving his hand to the silver handle.

“Which means we have thirty minutes less to review it before it airs,” Cyrus complained, glowering at his boss.

“Thirty less minutes for you and Mellie to have your hands on my interview? Suddenly, I feel a lot better,” He grinned and used his free hand to pat Cyrus on the shoulder before throwing the door open and moving to greet the journalist in the room.

Cyrus watched after him, a dumbfounded look on his face.


	3. People Are Strange

Cyrus paced furiously in front of his desk, a fierce glare in his eyes. His hands worked intently at pulling the thin cap of hair on his head until his hair stuck out at every end, resembling a modern-day, pudgy Albert Einstein. He finally dropped his hands from his head and began furiously pulling at the black tie around his neck, loosening the constraining article and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white shirt.  

“We’re losing him,” He announced, stopping to look at the younger brunette seated behind his desk calmly drinking her coffee and making notes on a sheet of paper. To anyone who would have happened to glance in, Mellie appeared almost relaxed – unruffled by Cyrus’s outbursts.

“How the hell are you so calm?” Cyrus stopped by the far wall, looking at Mellie with stupefied amazement. Cyrus wasn’t alone in his desire to turn Fitz into governor to gain all the power and accolades that came with any association to the most powerful man in the state. If there was anyone who wanted Fitz to succeed more than Cyrus did – it was Mellie.

“I’m not worried.” Her almost cheery disposition caused Cyrus to groan in frustration as he contemplated going on another rage fueled rant. He knew Mellie wasn’t stupid and she generally was fantastic at observing the actions of others. It was what made her such a formidable opponent.

“He practically told me that he didn’t want us touching his interview.” Mellie’s gaze snapped to where Cyrus stood at that comment. Her blue gaze narrowed with unadultered rage.

“When was this?” She demanded, setting her mug down with such ferocity that the red glass nearly shattered upon the impact. A large crack formed from top to bottom though not deep enough to render the mug out of commission. Nonetheless, it became the subject of Cyrus’s line of sight as he answered Mellie’s question.

“Yesterday. When he was thirty minutes late. He…”

“He was thirty minutes late?” Cyrus winced at her high-pitched squeal before begrudgingly nodding his head. “Why was I told that technical difficulties were to blame for the delay?”

“Who told you that?” It was becoming clear to both Cyrus and Mellie that they were not on the same page. In fact, it was looking more and more as if they weren’t even in the same book.

“Lysa.” She named one of the several people who were volunteering for Fitz’s campaign and a look of unabashed rage marred her features as she uttered the one syllable name. Cyrus scrunched his brows at the information. What reason would Lysa have to lie to Mellie?

“Alright. Tell me all you know and I’ll tell you what I know.” He ran a wrinkled hand over his weathered face and slumped into the black leather chair placed in front of his desk.

“That _is_ all I know.” Mellie leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms under her voluminous breasts, silently demanding that Cyrus share all he knows.

“Like I said, he showed up late. He was practically skipping. I don’t think I need to mention how _un_ Fitz-like that was. His comment to my telling him he was late was that thirty less minutes for the two of us to have our hands on his interview made him feel a lot better.” Cyrus ended his tale and waited for all the information to sink into Mellie’s mind.

“Why would he say that?” She finally broke her silence to ask.

“Why would he be late or have Lysa lie to you?” Cyrus chose to answer her question with some of his own.

“Something strange is going on. Fitz is typically a lot more complacent,” Mellie observed. For the past several years, since Fitz’s father had forced him to first run for representative, he had allowed advisors to do his job. Fitz hadn’t wanted to run for public office and once he did, he preferred to stay in the background, finding it easier to let Mellie do most of the work.

“We need to find out where he has been going,” Cyrus stated, causing Mellie to nod her head vigorously in agreement.

“He’s planning something and I have a feeling the outcome won’t favor either of us.”

 

 

“What are you doing now?” Fitz smiled into the receiver, leaning back into the supple leather of his desk chair and propping his feet onto his desk.

“Leaving class,” The woman on the other line responded and he could hear a door slamming in the background as the wind began rustling in his ear.

“Have you had lunch?”

“Are you offering?”

“Possibly.” He smirked and began tapping his feet against the red oak.

“Well if you’re buying…” She trailed off, giggling.

“Who said I was buying?” He tried his best to sound offensive, confused, anything to throw her off guard. During their short amount of interactions, he had rarely gained the upper-hand during their banter. She was insanely good at thinking on her feet.

“I’m a poor college student so we all know I’m not paying.” Of course she would have a retort ready and waiting for him.

“Did you spend your whole allowance on your wardrobe?” He had her there and she knew it. It wasn’t hard for Fitz to pinpoint the cause of her lost allowances in the tailored suits she loved to wear.

“Hardy har har. They say to dress for the part you want.” Her response was weak and she knew; opting to change the topic immediately after, “Where are we having lunch?”

“It depends,” He grinned, thinking of his next statement, “Where would the financially challenged one care to eat?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her mock affronted tone nearly had him burst out in laughter – a sure fire way to ruin his next comment. Taking a calming breath and mustering the most straight-faced approach he could, he responded with:

“That I wouldn’t hire you to be my accountant?”

She laughed at that. When he decided to bring his A-game, he most certainly did. She knew there was no possibility of regaining a foothold after that onslaught of good-natured barbs. Her stomach let out a low growl and her next topic was decided for her.

“How about The Waterboy?” She suggested, beginning to feel the unpleasant pangs of hunger gnawing at her stomach.

“The French place on Capitol Avenue?” He double checked. He had never been – Mellie refused to eat anywhere that didn’t have a dress code, whether stated or implied, and didn’t cost him an arm and a leg. Still, he had heard the restaurant was good and looked forward to giving it a try.

“That’s the one.”

“I’ll see you there in twenty minutes?”

“Alright. See you soon – and don’t forget your wallet.” She hung up, leaving a grin on Fitz’s face and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

He began humming to himself as he stood, stuffing his phone and wallet into his pockets. He grabbed his keys, deciding to forego the suit jacket. It was almost always too hot for it and he wasn’t sure why he ever bothered bringing one to begin with. Then he remembered the fight he and Mellie had gotten into several years ago about the unpolished look not wearing a suit jacket presented to his constituents. He had given in only for the sake of stopping the nails on a chalkboard sound that he likened to Mellie’s voice during arguments.

He stopped to stare at the black cloth that was slung of his desk chair – material that suddenly represented a whole host of lost battles with Mellie. Without much thought, he yanked the jacket from the chair and stuffed it in the wicker wastebasket that sat by his desk. He would be damned if he ever wore one of those without his express desire again and – for a brief, blessed moment of lost control, he considered setting fire to the wooden trashcan and all its contents.

His head snapped to the doorway at the sound of the knob twisting. Mellie’s face – oozing classic American beauty alongside an interesting combination of innocence and determination, served only to darken Fitz’s mood.

“Can I help you?” His tone was cold, uninviting. The promise of lunch with Olivia made him even less eager than normal to carry on any pointless conversation with Mellie. His gaze travelled unbidden to the wastebasket and its contents. Had he been able to contain his eagerness in regards of symbolically discarding that jacket he would have made it out of his office without having to suffer through this encounter.

Mellie’s gaze followed Fitz’s and she screwed her face up at the black sleeve hanging haphazardly out of the wastebasket. “What did you do to your clothes now?”

Fitz pursed his lips at her condescending tone. She sounded like a disappointed mother scolding her son.

“What I do with my clothes doesn’t concern you.”

She looked taken aback but recovered quickly with, “We can stop by the house and grab another on the way to lunch. I really don’t understand how you are so rough on your wardrobe.”

“It happens when you do something other than stand around looking like an overprivileged, overpriced statue.” He reveled in the way she stiffened her back and began fidgeting with the strap of her purse. He had Mellie on edge and it felt good.

“Now if you will excuse me, I already made arrangements for lunch.” He sauntered past her, yanking his sunglasses from the small table situated by the door, mainly used for mail.

“I’ve had this lunch with Senator Brown planned for weeks,” Mellie whined, silently rejoicing when Fitz turned at the doorway and looked at her.

He sighed and dropped his hand from the silver doorknob. He ambled over to where she stood, stopping a few inches from her body.

Mellie’s heartbeat sped up as she felt him sliding back into her grip – where he belonged. She closed the gap between the two, tilting her head back and letting her warm breath mingle with his. She smiled when he bent his head, his lips not quite brushing her earlobe.

And to think that Cyrus was worried. Maybe Fitz had had a slight lapse; a mistaken vision of succeeding without them, but he had come to his senses. After all, he was their boy.

“Maybe you should have told me before I made plans. Have fun, Mellie.” He winked at her, enjoying the look on her face as his words sunk in. He didn’t waste much time watching her expression before leaving the room.

She watched him go, her cheeks flaming at the indignation and realization that her seemingly obsequious husband wasn’t so obsequious after all. She stomped to Fitz’s desk and picked up the phone, punching a familiar extension on the keypad.

She waited until she heard the receiver being picked up on the other end before uttering one line:

“Code red.”

 

 

 “Sorry I’m late,” Fitz apologized, seating himself at the white topped table and opening the menu.

“Just ten minutes. No big deal,” Olivia shrugged, perusing her own menu.

“It was a bit of a dick move.” He didn’t take his gaze off the menu, yet insisted on continuing with his unwanted apology. He felt he owed it to her.

“I think the real issue here is did you bring your wallet?” She arched an eyebrow in his direction, trying to lighten the mood and get him to cease with the apologies.

Without saying a word, Fitz dug his wallet from his pocket and deliberately laid it in front of Olivia. She giggled before sliding the black, leather rectangle back. He laughed along, slipping the wallet back into his pocket.

“Good to know I won’t have to wash dishes this trip,” She winked, “Can we order now?”

“Someone is impatient.” Fitz motioned for a waiter, watching as a perky blonde in black slacks and a white button-up began to make her way toward them.

“I missed breakfast,” She informed him.

“You skipped the most important meal of the day?” His mock tone of bewilderment caused her to burst into a fit of giggles that she had trouble containing once the waitress appeared.

“Are you ready to order?” The waitress’s thick, Southern accent was a clear indicator that she was not a native of the area.

“I’ll have the Grilled Spring Lamb,” Olivia stated, watching as her order was written down.

“And I’ll have the Steak du jour.” The waitress bopped her head as she wrote.

“And what can I get y’all to drink?”

“Malbec, if you have it,” Olivia spoke up and the waitress nodded, heading off to place their orders.

“How’s school going?” Fitz asked once their wine had been placed before them.

“Two mid-terms are done. Three more to go.” She took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste. He watched her, enjoying the look of pure pleasure that flitted across her face.

“What are you doing for spring break?” He wondered, inhaling the mouth-watering aromas drifting from their plates as they were placed before them.

“I  haven’t given it much thought,” She admitted, bringing a piece of her lamb to her mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Want to volunteer on my campaign? Lord knows I could use some semblance of an intelligent life-form.” Now it was his turn to sigh as he bit into his steak. Olivia had picked an amazing place to eat.

“Do I want to spend my break with old men debating political tactics?” For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse, but then a grin crossed her face, “Everyone else in my class will be envious.”

He felt like dancing at the new found joy spreading through his body once the woman before him accepted his offer. Instead of making a fool of himself by showcasing his horrible dance skills, he settled for a smile and a simple, “Awesome.”

 

 

Later, as the two sat sharing their desserts of Affogato and Chocolate Mousse, a figure in dark clothes with a powerful camera snapped away at the two unknowing friends.

 


	4. Paparazzi

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Olivia groaned and rolled over in her bed, slamming her fist against the alarm clock and tangling her legs in the satin sheets. She stumbled as she stood from the bed before kicking her legs free of the deep violet material.

Her phone buzzed and she turned her attention to the slim device. Three missed calls and seven text messages. She shook her head – no doubt they were added attempts made by her friends to get her to join them for spring break. They could wait until after her morning ritual.

Grabbing a pair of jeans and a light, grey sweater, she headed toward her bathroom and the shower that waited for her there. The warm water felt good as it sluiced against her tired muscles. She grabbed for her sandalwood scented body wash, inhaling the intoxicating scent as she rubbed it into her skin.

Her morning routine took a little longer than normal – she had spent a few extra minutes under the warm water than she usually would. Stepping out from under the now lukewarm spray, goosebumps began peppering Olivia’s otherwise smooth skin as she hurriedly wrapped a grey towel around her shivering body. It didn’t take her long to dress and make her way to her kitchen and the steaming pot of coffee waiting for her.

As she sat nursing a warm mug between her hands, the blinking of her phone caused her to turn her head toward the device. She sighed and finally reached a hand out to pick the slim phone up. Unlocking the screen, she began scrolling through her several text messages.

“Where are you?”

“Have you seen the paper?”

“Well now I know why you wouldn’t go on a date with me…awkward.” The text from the resident bad boy at Lincoln, Mason, had Olivia furrowing her brows. What was that supposed to mean? She sighed and continued on to her next and final text – from her best friend.

“Olivia Carolyn Pope, you little slut! I didn’t think you had it in you! Call me?”

Olivia shook her head. What was she missing? Something happened that had set everyone on edge and she didn’t like the sinking feeling that that something involved her. Deciding to get straight to the point, she began dialing.

“Olivia,” Chloe’s loud, shrill shriek caused Olivia to pull the phone back from her ear a few inches, “Why did you tell me you were seeing someone? As your best friend, I find that offensive.”

Olivia laughed at the pout that had made its way into Chloe’s voice – she had always been a tad immature and wild, but that only seemed to balance out Olivia’s personality. On the surface, their friendship didn’t make much sense to anyone but them.

“I’m not seeing anyone.” Olivia finally settled the phone back against her ear, confident that there wouldn’t be any more squealing on her friend’s part. Chloe loved drama and Olivia was certain that the beginning of the conversation had nothing to do with Chloe’s hurt over being kept in the dark about some supposed secret but more to do with her need to cause a scene for most everything.

“Really?” Chloe’s shocked tone only added fuel to Olivia’s confusion, “Because the front page of the paper would disagree.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t seen the paper?”

“No…” Olivia wondered what the sudden enthusiasm for the morning paper was about. Chloe rarely read anything except the glossy pages of whatever magazine currently interested her and occasionally her textbooks half-way through the semester when she began worrying that she might actually fail. Not that it would happen – Chloe had her ways of making sure she passed. Ways that Olivia didn’t approve.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Now go to your front door, open it, and get the paper,” Chloe commanded and Olivia stood from her kitchen table, taking heavy, slow steps toward her front door. She was suddenly apprehensive about what she would find on the other side.

“Why did you ask if I was dressed?” She asked, trying to break the tension that was causing her muscles to bulk at every little movement she made.

“Because you’re my friend and I didn’t want you to be _that_ weirdo who opens the door in their underwear to get the morning paper.”

“You really think I would do that?” Olivia snorted. Chloe never ceased to amaze her.

“Well no but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to check, you know?” Olivia’s hand found the doorknob and she twisted, throwing the wooden door open and grabbing the paper from the black mat outside. She noticed one of her neighbors, the young mother across the hall, giving her a disapproving look as she hurried back into her apartment, clutching the newspaper to her chest. She took one look at the front page before exploding into the phone, causing Chloe to squeal in pain and almost drop her phone from her ear.

“What the hell is this?”

“If I knew the answer to that, do you really think I would be asking you?” Chloe’s sarcasm caused Olivia to smirk through her anger.

“You don’t believe this do you?”

“Let’s see, would I believe the paparazzi over my best friend?” Chloe paused, pretending to think for a minute before calling out over her shoulder, “Mason, should I believe this jackass journalist or Olivia?”

“You brought _Mason_ in on this?” Olivia groaned. Mason Hart, to the outside world, was charming, rich, and intelligent. Everything a girl should want. To Olivia, he was arrogant and egotistical – always trying to by what he wants and never working for it. He had become her own personal shadow their first year at Lincoln and couldn’t seem to take no for an answer. It  was infuriating and Chloe’s infatuation with him only seemed to fuel him in his attempt to win Olivia. He seemed to thrive on playing games with everyone’s emotions.

“He was here when I saw the paper,” Chloe admitted and at least she had the decency to seem somewhat apologetic.

“I’m not having an affair,” Olivia stated, staring down in disgust at the picture that glared back at her from the morning paper. It was an innocent enough looking picture of she and Fitz sharing lunch, but of course the media hadn’t portrayed it as that.

“I don’t doubt that. I mean we are talking about _the_ Olivia Pope here. She spends too much time reading and studying to care about _boys_ ,” Chloe giggled and Olivia stuck her tongue out at her friend’s description of her, even though Chloe couldn’t see the gesture.

“But seriously, Liv, how do you know him?”

Olivia sighed. The truth was the best course to take here and she could trust Chloe. She couldn’t trust Mason, but she could trust Chloe. “Are you still near Mason?”

“Yes?”

“Then I’m not telling you anything.”

“Ugh. You are impossible. Hold on.” Olivia waited impatiently as she heard Chloe shooing Mason from the room. It took a few minutes, but finally Chloe, sounding out of breath, began speaking once more:

“Okay.”

“Remember when I was late to class three weeks ago?” She didn’t wait for a response, expecting Chloe to remember the unusual occurrence. Olivia was never late for class. “I had a flat. Fitz…”

“You call him Fitz?”

“Can I continue?”

“Please do.”

“Fitz stopped and helped me. We exchanged numbers – we were both in a hurry and I felt it was only right to thank him. We went for coffee and I don’t know…we kind of hit it off. In a mentor way not a romantic way,” Olivia tried downplaying what she wasn’t entirely sure of – the nature of her relationship with Fitz.

“You are in deep shit.” Olivia sighed. Chloe always had a way of summing things up that not only made her feel worse about any situation, but were also irrefutable.

 

 

 “What happened to you having this all under control?” Cyrus gloated, perched on the corner of his desk with the morning paper resting on his knee as he watched Mellie for the tiniest reaction.

“Nothing’s changed,” Mellie asserted, but her voice wavered. A lot had changed. She barely knew Fitz anymore. He hadn’t spoken much to her since yesterday and his abrupt departure, leaving her to brave lunch with Senator Brown and later dinner with Cyrus by herself had her frowning. Fitz was becoming wild, unpredictable and Mellie did not like that.

“I wish I could believe you. I _want_ to believe you, but to do that would be to allow Fitz to slip from between our fingers while we sit here with our hands tied.” For once Cyrus sounded tired, exhausted by the idea of losing. His gaze traveled back to the paper and Mellie’s followed.

“Who is this girl?” Mellie jabbed her finger at the paper, her eyes flashing with an anger that did nothing but contrast with her beautiful, composed features. But Mellie wasn’t composed. She was far from it and Cyrus could sense it. She had been in a foul mood since she first saw the picture of the young, beautiful woman with her husband.

“I don’t have an answer for that. I have my people looking into it – trying to dig up a name, but Mellie, we have to be patient.”

“Have you talked to Fitz about _her_?” Mellie wrinkled her nose, her tone speaking of the unnamed woman as if she were a disease that Mellie would gladly rid herself of if she could.

“I haven’t seen Fitz,” Cyrus admitted, looking at Mellie with wide eyes.

“He hasn’t been with you?”

“No. I thought he was with you.”

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. He never came home last night.” Mellie at least had the courtesy to look panicked. Fitz had never gone missing on them before and neither knew how to handle the situation. It didn’t take long for Cyrus to dig his phone out of his pocket, but he was too slow for Mellie who had already dialed Fitz’s number and was impatiently tapping her foot as she listened to the ringing, waiting for Fitz to pick up. She sighed in frustration when she got his voicemail instead.

Cyrus shook his head as she unleashed a torrent of curse words. He ignored her ranting, holding his phone to his ear and listening to the same ringing that Mellie had listened to only seconds earlier. Within seconds the ringing had stopped. Unlike Mellie; however, Cyrus was greeted by Fitz’s cold voice.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you?” Mellie’s attention snapped to Cyrus when she heard his words and she began calling out questions in rapid succession.

“He answered _your_ call? Where is he? What is he doing? Has he seen the paper? Who is that girl?” Cyrus held his hand up, silencing Mellie with one look.  She huffed and flopped into her seat in the most ungraceful way possible, folding her arms over her chest.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Fitz repeated his question with tight, clipped words – refusing to give into Cyrus’s demands. It was childish, he knew but he was at a breaking point with his supposed best friend and was tired of being pushed around like some damn puppet.

“No one can find you.” Cyrus tried a different approach. Instead of demanding to know where Fitz was, he would take the concerned friend angle. It had always worked before and Cyrus had no reason to believe that it wouldn’t work this time.

“That sounds pleasant.” Fitz’s offhand comment took Cyrus by surprise. He stood with his mouth hanging open; gasping for words like a fish for water. He tried to listen to all the background noises he could hear from Fitz’s end, but the sound of traffic and children laughing did nothing to clue him in on where his errant friend happened to be.

“Give me some kind of hint,” Cyrus finally begged. He wasn’t the type of man to get down and grovel, but he also wasn’t the kind of man to lose what he wanted most because of some misplaced pride. If it took begging to find Fitz’s location then beg he would.

“A hint? Hm…here’s one for you, and you can pass it along to Mellie too,” Fitz began.

“Mellie isn’t –“

“I’m not stupid, Cyrus. I know she’s there with you. When you two decide to stop gossiping about me like a couple of scorned high school lovers, you can look at my schedule and you will know exactly where I am.” He didn’t wait for a response, gleefully ending the call and effectively shutting Cyrus out once more.

“Well?” Mellie demanded the moment Cyrus sat his phone on his desk.

“Do you have a copy of his schedule?”

“In my office. Why?”

“Just get it, Mellie,” Cyrus snapped, running a hand over his face as Mellie narrowed her eyes in his direction. The look that Cyrus threw in her direction soon had her scrambling for her office. It didn’t take her long to locate the paper she was looking for and bring it to Cyrus.

“I thought you were in charge of his schedule,” Cyrus grumbled as he glanced over the paper Mellie had handed him.

“I was until he sent his secretary around with a new copy this morning. Do not ask how or when he got the time to completely undo what I had done.”

“I don’t like this,” Cyrus observed, scanning the paper until he found the 1:30 slot, “He’s at the opening of a park downtown.”

“Let’s go,” Mellie commanded, already heading for the door.

 

 

“Thank you for being with us today, Representative.” An older brunette said as she shook Fitz’s hand.

“ _Thank_ you for having me. The children seem to enjoy this. It will be a nice place for them to play,” Fitz grinned. For the first time in months he found himself enjoying a campaign stop. He should have taken the schedule into his own hands years ago – after his first campaign.

He stood silently listening to the men and women around prattle on about the park and what an improvement it would be to the community. When the conversation began to grow listless, he gracefully excused himself and found a place underneath a shady oak tree to observe his surroundings. His peaceful observations didn’t last long before they were shattered by the ringing of his phone. He groaned when he read the name on the screen – he would rather deal with Cyrus again.

“Hi dad,” He greeted as cheerfully as he could. The amount of time he had spent the last few weeks messing with Mellie and Cyrus was taking a toll on his energy. He didn’t feel like he had any left to argue with his father.

“I never thought I would be saying this to you, but what the hell?” Jerry Grant bellowed into the phone. His tone wasn’t as menacing as it typically was when he spoke to his son – in fact he sounded nearly giddy with pride. That confused Fitz to no end as he tried to think of what he could have possibly done to make his father proud and what he could subsequently do to dispel that pride.

“I’m not even going to pretend like I know what you’re talking about.” Fitz’s shoulders slumped as he waited for his father to respond.

“I have to admit, I never thought you would be the kind to have a mistress, but to flaunt her in town? Come on, son. You can do better than that.” Fitz groaned. He knew that Jerry was talking about the morning paper and that photo of himself with Olivia. He hated how the media had turned an innocent meal with a friend into something it wasn’t. Now he had to think of some way to wiggle himself out of the impending carnage.

“I don’t…”

“Nonsense. You chose well too! She’s a looker,” Jerry interrupted and Fitz shook his head.

“She’s not my mistress,” He stated in a harsh tone.

“Then why were you having lunch with her?” Fitz hated how his father, the misogynist that he was, could not understand a friendship between a man and woman when he saw it. Knowing that he would never get his father to understand, Fitz told a lie that he hoped he would have the guts to make true.

“She’s my new campaign manager. I’m announcing it this evening.”

“And for a second there, I thought you really were my son after all.” Jerry sounded disappointed and it came as no shock to Fitz when he hung up seconds later.

 

 

“Olivia, we need to talk.” The stern look on Eli’s face, coupled with his authoritative tone, had Olivia almost cowering in front of her father – transporting her back to a time when she was younger and had no choice but to follow her father’s every instruction.

“Okay,” She mumbled, opening the door further and allowing him entrance to her small apartment. She had a sinking feeling that she knew what this conversation would be about and she had no idea how to respond to any question or accusation he threw her way.

Eli followed her to the small living room, sitting in a grey, overstuffed sofa as Olivia perched on the chair across from him. She sat on the edge, as if she were readying herself to run at any moment. She could practically feel a cold sweet break out across her brow as she waited for her father to speak.

“How could you? You have a brilliant career ahead of you and you throw it away to be some man’s _mistress_?” Eli spat the word at his only child. He looked at her as if she had grown another head and become an atrocity to society – she certainly was one to his carefully laid out future.

“I’m not his mistress,” Olivia barely managed to choke out, casting her eyes to the floor. An unusually submissive move for the strong-willed woman, but she found it difficult to be anything but submissive when it came to her father.

“Then what are you? Because none of this is looking too good for you right now. It’s almost as if you don’t care about…” He was cut off by a swift knocking on the door. Olivia let out a breath of relief and silently thanked whoever had been kind enough to interrupt her father’s tirade. She stood from the chair, excusing herself, and headed straight for the door – nearly skipping.

She frowned when she swung the door open to reveal a flustered Fitz on the other side. She was flustered and didn’t know how she would explain this to her father. Nonetheless, she invited him in – with a look of warning as she led him to the sofa where her father was.

Quickly putting two and two together, Fitz put on his most charming smile as he stuck his hand out to shake Eli’s. The two men stared at each other for longer than necessary. The awkwardness of the situation was as thick as morning fog.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pope,” Fitz grinned, casting his eyes sideway to see Olivia looking as worried as ever, “I’m pleased to have your daughter on board as my campaign manager.”

Olivia’s heart stopped for a moment before quickly resuming its normal pace. Campaign manager? Was he out of his mind? There were plenty of older, more experienced people who deserved that title and he was thrusting it on her? Not that she was complaining.

“When did this happen?” Eli’s voice was hard, still unsure if he believed the two.

“Yesterday during our lunch meeting – which the press has been kind enough to blow out of portion for me.” Fitz chuckled and Olivia narrowed her eyes. How was he so calm?

“And you are going to make it right, correct? My daughter has a bright future ahead of her, Representative, and these rumors cannot continue.”

“Of course,” Fitz nodded, allowing his shoulders to relax at what he presumed to be the older man’s complete compliance with their story.

“Good,” Eli gave a tight smile, “Now would you care to explain why you are visiting my daughter at her home?”

 

 

 


	5. I Will Not Bow

“Where the hell is he?” Cyrus’s shoulders tensed at the too-loud tone of Mellie’s voice. There were times, such as these, when she barely held on to her dignity over the red-hot anger boiling in her veins.

“Mellie,” Cyrus spoke slowly, halting his steps and turning to face her, “Do you see those reporters over there?”

Mellie’s gaze followed Cyrus’s outstretched finger, pointing at a group of men milling around a large oak tree with cameras in their hands. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small ‘o’. They were less than thirty feet away if she had to guess and more than within earshot of her outburst.

“They didn’t hear.” Her absolute certainty of the fact had Cyrus scrunching his brows at her.

“Oh don’t look so surprised, Cy. They would be over here snapping away if they had.” The only betrayal to her seemingly cheery disposition was the slight falter of her smile and her annoyed tone, spoken so low that even Cyrus had to strain to hear.

“Any ideas?” The sarcasm in Cyrus’s voice was thick. He didn’t like Mellie’s flippant attitude in public. He knew she wasn’t careless and she was far from frivolous. No, Mellie knew when to put on the best damn show she could and she was adept at using her Southern charm to have the press eating out of the palm of her hand.

Mellie’s sidelong glance would have been enough to freeze hell – it was certainly enough to cause Cyrus to stop mid-step. She sauntered off toward a group of well-dressed men and women. They looked like the facilitators of the event and she was determined to get answers from them – in the most discreet way possible.

“Excuse me.” The older woman in the center, her hair piled into bun on top her head, stopped mid-sentence to take in the woman who had interrupted her.

“Can I help you?” The condescending tone was enough to cause a frown to appear on Mellie’s face.

“Is the Representative still here?” Mellie asked, honey dripping from her words.

“He left about twenty minutes ago.” The woman turned, quickly dismissing Mellie. Cyrus was quick to step in between the two as Mellie took a step closer.

“Did he happen to mention where he was going?” The older woman sighed, turning to look at the man who had addressed her. She gave him a once over, plastering a charming smile to her face.

“I suppose you would have to speak with a member of Representative Grant’s team to get that answer.” Her sugary sweet tone cut Cyrus to the quick – adding salt to an already bleeding wound.

“Thank you for your time,” He remarked stiffly, pulling Mellie away and toward the waiting car. It was disgraceful that Cyrus – that the _campaign manager_ did not know the schedule of his own candidate.

“Now what?” Mellie crossed her arms over her chest, flopping back against the leather seat. Cyrus settled into the back beside her, slamming his door as the driver turned the key in the ignition.

“We wait.” Cyrus was reserved to the waiting game at this point. Every move he had made to bring Fitz back under his wing had only served to push him farther away. No, they would wait whether Mellie liked it or not.

 

 

Fitz’s palms were sweaty. He had already wiped them against his grey slacks half a dozen times, but the slippery, wet perspiration kept reappearing. What was he supposed to say to Olivia’s _father_? He didn’t even know why he had decided to show up on her doorstep.

“Fitz is here to discuss the press conference this evening.”

 _Thank God for Olivia Pope_. Fitz barely contained the smile that threatened to spill over his face – or the sigh of relief that almost escaped him. She was certainly better at thinking on her feet than he was – or she had better experience with her father than he did. Either way, she was a lifesaver.

“Fitz?” Eli’s raised brow was enough to have Fitz nearly shaking in his shoes.

“I am on a first name basis with those employees whom I work closest with. It creates a relaxed, trusting atmosphere and I feel leads to close teamwork – an important trait for a political campaign.” Fitz clamped his mouth shut – realizing that he was running on and only making a fool of himself. He either clammed up or spoke in long, windy sentences. There was no in-between with him.  

“When is this press conference?” Eli wasn’t relenting. He had the look of a man who was pushing for any weaknesses – weaknesses that he no doubt believed existed.

“In an hour and a half,” Fitz answered, looking at his watch and then pointedly at Olivia.

“We really need to go over my statement, dad. This is my first time doing anything like this and it really is a great opportunity for me. You wouldn’t want me to mess it up, would you?” Olivia’s calm, reasoning tone was enough to draw her father’s attention to her. He gave a short nod, bending to whisper in her ear.

“I _will_ be watching, Olivia.” Just like that, Eli was gone.

“I get the feeling that I should be thankful I’m still breathing,” Fitz observed, quietly, as the door clicked in place.

“He wouldn’t kill you,” Olivia shrugged, turning to face him, “He would torture you first.”

“And that makes me feel so much better.”

“You would still be breathing.” Fitz found it hard to keep a straight face at Olivia’s horrible attempt to restrain her laughter.

“Were you serious about making me your campaign manager?”

“I can’t back out of it now.”

“Oh…” Disappointment flickered across her face. It was quick and brief, but it was there nonetheless…and Fitz saw it. She had taken his words the wrong way.

“I _want_ you to be my campaign manager, Olivia. I need a new direction in this campaign and I need some distance from my wife and my current manager. I was expecting to bring the topic up at a later date and give you time to _think_ about it.”

“Advanced notice would have been appreciated…but thanks for stopping my dad from locking me away.”

“He would do that?”

“He would _send_ me away.” Fitz scrunched his eyes at Olivia, waiting for her to elaborate. “It’s a long story. Maybe later?”

“I’ll hold you to it. Now for the press conference…”

 

 

“Representative Grant.” The young reporter spoke in a high squeal that, despite her perkiness, caused Fitz to take an instant disliking to her. “Has Mrs. Grant seen the morning paper? What were her thoughts of what is being dubbed by local media as an affair?”

“Mellie and I give little thought to these rumors…”

“Are you saying that picture we have all seen isn’t proof of an affair?” Fitz gritted his teeth and tried to keep his thoughts from spreading to his face at the persistence of the media members present.

“What was photographed was a private meeting between myself and Ms. Pope,” Fitz elaborated, gesturing at the woman who stood by his side, “My new campaign manager.”

Olivia slid in front of Fitz as several journalists began speaking at once – demanding to know why the sudden change in what was considered one of the most well-oiled machines in the Republicans’ power.

Gesturing for the crowd to grow quiet, Olivia began speaking:

“Representative Grant has decided to take his campaign in a new direction. His current manager, Cyrus Beene, will serve as our fundraiser coordinator. This is an important step in reaching across the generation gap.”

Fitz breathed a sigh of relief as Olivia effortlessly made the statement they had worked on earlier. There really was no _good_ explanation for him to fire Cyrus, but Olivia’s suggestion of closing the generation gap by hiring a young campaign manager was the closest they were going to get.

“Ms. Pope, what are your qualifications for this position?” Fitz silently cursed the reporter who tossed that question out. Compared to Cyrus, Olivia’s qualifications were weak. She was unproven, but Fitz knew that even unproven, she could best her competition.

“Ms. Pope,” Fitz began, squeezing himself between Olivia and the podium. He had no desire to see her floundering about for an answer in a setting that she was still unfamiliar with.

“Ms. Pope holds a bachelor’s in Political Science and is currently attending Lincoln Law.” Fitz took a deep breath, glancing down at Olivia. She seemed to be handling the questions better than he thought she would.

“That will be all for now.” It didn’t take Fitz long to guide Olivia out of the office, shielding her from the flashing of the cameras. He couldn’t explain the sudden need to protect her and it left him feeling flustered.

 

 

“Where could he possibly be?” Cyrus raved, flipping through the stack of papers on Fitz’s desk.

“Probably off fucking his new play thing.” Cyrus swung his head to look at Mellie. Her tone was devoid of any emotion – far from the ranting Mellie he expected to deal with. She was flipping through channels on the flat screen above the mantle.

“Stop,” Cyrus commanded as Mellie flipped past a channel that showed Fitz standing promptly in front of a podium. Mellie was immediately glued to the channel, flipping the volume to unnecessary levels as they listened to what was being said.

“…My new campaign manager.” The small smile he gave the dark-skinned beauty behind him was discreet, but not so discreet that Mellie didn’t notice. They watched as she took the stand, giving some statement about the need for a young face in Fitz’s campaign.

As the press conference winded down, Mellie couldn’t help the maniacal laugh that escaped.

“All this time, I thought he was fucking around on _me_ , but you’re the one he was screwing over.”

“Fundraiser coordinator?” Cyrus mumbled, feeling the indignity of his new title hit him full in the gut. What was Fitz thinking?

Mellie’s laughter only grew louder as the hole in Cyrus’s gut grew.

God did he hate that laugh.


	6. Maybe You're The One Who Will Save Me

“Why are you scheduled for so many functions with Senator Brown?” Olivia questioned, swiveling from side to side in Fitz’s desk chair and examining in his monthly schedule. Her predecessor, while accomplished in his own ways, had left her a muddled mess to deal with.

“That was Mellie’s suggestion. She wanted me to ally myself with the senator – he’s been a public favorite for years.”

“He _was_ a public favorite. California voters have progressively gotten younger and Senator Brown is out of touch. He voted against equal pay and he cast a decisive vote against immigration reform. You have one of the largest Latino demographics in the country – voting against immigration reform, or siding with someone who has, is political suicide.”

“What’s your suggestion?” Fitz sighed, slumping into the plush chair in front of his desk as Olivia thrummed a pencil against the hard wood surface.

“Distance yourself as much as possible.” She said it as if it were common sense – the only logical answer for their predicament.

“A suggestion that wouldn’t cause unnecessary tension,” He elaborated, crossing one knee over the other and leveling Olivia with his gaze.

“You don’t need to worry about alienating Senator Brown – it would, to be honest, help more than hinder your campaign.” She stopped when she noticed the look Fitz was throwing her way –he wasn’t buying into what she had to say.

“Hear me out, Fitz. A _very_ small percentage of your electorate support the senator. This is a mostly Democratic state. Adding tension to the race will bring attention to you as a candidate _and_ bring support from Independents who see that you are willing to compromise – to work with other parties and not just your own.”

Placing a hand over his face and leaning back in his chair, Fitz sighed loudly. He slowly dragged his hand down his face until his line of sight was free of obstruction – allowing him to give Olivia a conflicted look.

“I’m not deciding either way yet. This isn’t a decision that should be made without giving it some thought.”

“We’ll continue tomorrow, then,” Olivia concluded, slamming the thick binder shut in front of her.

“You’re bossy,” Fitz commented with a wide grin.

“It’s not like you aren’t used to it,” Olivia observed.

“Wow,” Fitz laughed, “That was a low blow.”

Olivia shrugged, looking unapologetic for her comment. “When do I get to meet Cyrus? We are supposed to be working together.”

“You will meet him later this week. I want to be there when you meet him, Olivia.”

“I can handle myself.”

“You don’t know Cyrus like I do – or Mellie. Please.” The look he shot her was enough to freeze Olivia’s next retort on her lips, causing her to quickly backpedal. 

“I’ll wait.”

 

 

“Have you met her?” Mellie asked, twirling a plate on the oaken dining table.

“Fitz won’t let me anywhere near her,” Cyrus responded, reaching for a glass.

“Is she joining us for lunch?”

“I doubt it. I also doubt that Fitz joins us either.”

Mellie snapped her head to the side, glaring down at Cyrus and slamming the plate back onto the table, causing Cyrus to flinch at the sound of glass breaking.

“He promised he wouldn’t miss lunch.”

“He has had breakfast, lunch, and dinner with her every day since he hired her. What could have possibly gone through your head that would make you _think_ he would break with that routine?”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

Cyrus was quick to stand from his seat and grab Mellie’s arm, twisting her around to look at him. He held tightly to her arm, squeezing hard to make sure she listened.

“Mellie, you know she is with him and if you go barging into his office now, you lose him forever. You’re smarter than this!” Cyrus’s shouting and tight grip had Mellie shrinking away…at first. It wasn’t long before she worked up the nerve to be standing with a rigid back and steely composure.

“I’m his wife and if he thinks –“

“He won’t be for much longer. If _you_ think that you’re going to go down there and run over him like you used to than you’re a damn fool.”

“I won’t lose him to her.” Cyrus snorted in laughter at Mellie’s statement and threw her arm back to her side, looking at her in disgust.

“You choose _now_ to finally play the part of a scorned wife? Why couldn’t you have done this earlier – when it would have worked! I am done with this, Mellie. You can’t let reason sink in long enough to see that any woman who has the power to work her way into Fitz’s life within _months_ is a force to be reckoned with.

She isn’t going to lay down and let you win – you will have to work for it. I’m not going to sit here and let you ruin my chances of ever standing in the sun again. Enjoy your time on the fringe.”

With that said, Cyrus stomped out of the room leaving Mellie staring after him – a dumbfounded stare gracing her face.

 

 

“What’s so funny about that?” Fitz asked, catching himself laughing along with Olivia.

“It’s so cliché,” She responded, continuing with her laughter.

“I bet you were your class president too.” Fitz winked, angling his body so he could look directly at Olivia who was sitting with her elbow against the back of the couch and her head resting in her hand.

“No.” She quit laughing, a small smile gracing her face. “I didn’t have many friends.”

“Their loss,” He grinned, moving his hand to her knee and patting it gently – wrinkling the grey fabric beneath his hand. The smile on Olivia’s face faltered slightly as she stared down at his hand.

“Fitz?” She searched his face for an expression that would give him away, but he was a blank slate.

“Olivia?” He breathed in a husky whisper, inching his face closer to her.

_This is wrong. He’s married. He’s…smart. But he’s married. He’s kind. He’s my boss. He’s…amazing._

Olivia’s inner conscience continued to battle with itself in a comical manner as Fitz inched closer, hovering above her lips.

“This isn’t proper,” She managed to choke out as he slid across the couch to place his hands on her hips.

“Then let’s be improper,” He winked, finally allowing his lips to connect with hers in a rash, unexpected decision that he wasn’t sure he wanted to blame on their several glasses of wine earlier that night.


	7. Let Her Go

“I haven’t seen much of you these past couple of days,” Cyrus observed, taking a seat across from Fitz who watched the older man from over the rim of his scotch tumbler.

“You knew where to find me,” Fitz mumbled, loosening the black tie around his neck and heaving a sigh as he swirled the decadent amber colored liquid in his glass.

“It didn’t seem like you wanted me around.”

“I didn’t want you around,” Fitz stated, slamming back the rest of the liquid and staring at the empty glass.

“That’s real nice,” Cyrus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking Fitz in the eye.

“I didn’t want the cold, calculating campaign manager, Cy,” Fitz began, turning to the bottle of scotch on the table beside him. Pouring himself and Cyrus a glass, he continued, “I needed a _friend_ and I know how hard it is for you to separate business from friendship.”

“So you decided to banish me instead?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Cy,” Fitz remarked, handing the older man his glass before slumping back into the chair behind him.

“Alright,” Cyrus started, slowly, as he took a sip of the alcohol, “Why did you replace me then?”

“I needed space. _I_ needed to make my own decisions. I can’t go on allowing you and Mellie to run things.” The haunted look on Fitz’s face caused Cyrus to bite back the scathing remark he wanted to make.

“Is that why you chose her? She’s easier to control?” Cyrus wasn’t expecting the dry, sarcastic laugh that Fitz gave him.

“That’s funny,” He commented, mock toasting Cyrus before taking a swig from his glass. Cyrus raised a brow in his boss’s direction, waiting for an explanation.

“Olivia would be harder to control than you or Mellie, Cy. She can see past her own emotions and ambition. She’s a thinker and a doer – you and Mellie…you’re plotters.” Cyrus tilted his head as he listened to Fitz’s jumbled speech, wondering just how much the younger man had had to drink to make him this open.

“Plotters never win, Cy. They’re selfish – so selfish they can’t see past their own wants to make the right decisions…the _winning_ decisions.”

“So…” Cyrus cleared his throat, loosening his tie, “Where is Olivia?”

“She went home,” Fitz answered, fixing his eyes on the wall behind Cyrus’s head and growing silent.

 

 

_“Here.” Fitz handed Olivia a glass filled to the brim with Pinot noir. She accepted the glass, taking a tiny sip as she eased herself onto the cream colored sofa._

_“What made you choose politics?” Olivia questioned, watching Fitz grab his own glass before sitting beside her._

_“I feel like it chose me,” He shrugged, “It runs in the family. My father was a senator.”_

_“Do you like it?”_

_“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to figure it out on my own. Mellie’s always pushed me toward it. She likes the idea of having power and Cyrus…he’s been with me from the start. My dad made sure he joined my first campaign and I feel like he’s been controlling me since.” Fitz’s honesty stunned him as much as it did Olivia. He hadn’t put those feelings into words with himself, yet, let alone someone else._

_“For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a great governor,” Olivia smiled, patting his arm and sipping her wine._

_“Maybe.”_

_“You have some good ideas.”_

_“What about you?” He changed the subject, growing uncomfortable with the subject at hand._

_“What about me?” Olivia wasn’t going to make it easy on him._

_“Have you always wanted to be an attorney?”_

_“Not always,” She answered, lowering her gaze._

_They sat there in awkward silence for minutes – Fitz unsure of what to say and Olivia convincing herself to tell her story. Fitz had, after all, told her his._

_“When I was twelve, my mom died. She was on a plane and…” Olivia paused, taking a shaky breath and steadying herself to continue, “They said there were engine problems.”_

_“You don’t believe what they say.” Olivia raised her head to look at Fitz as he spoke, shaking her head slightly._

_“I don’t know what to believe, but…it made me want to fight for others. If…if someone was the reason my mom died…” She stopped, swallowing hard and blinking back tears._

_“It’s okay. I understand,” Fitz stopped her, noticing how close she was to breaking down. “Why not law enforcement?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Why didn’t you choose law enforcement?”_

_She raised a brow at him – causing him to laugh at her._

_“Okay. Good point,” He chuckled, drinking the last of his wine._

_Fitz stood to poor himself another glass, offering to top Olivia’s off as he did so. They sat in silence, sipping their wine and listening to the steady pitter-patter of rain as it hit the windows._

_“I promise if I am ever in a position to do so, I **will** find out what happened to your mother,” Fitz proclaimed, causing Olivia to turn her gaze to the darkened skies outside the windows._

_“Thank you,” She whispered, feeling the first tear fall from her eyes._

 

“Mellie thinks there’s more than meets the eye going on between you two,” Cyrus observed, pulling Fitz’s attention back to him.

“It doesn’t much matter what Mellie thinks.”

“She’s still your wife.”

“Since when has that mattered to you or her? She has only cared if I manage to get her to where _she_ wants.”

“I’m only suggesting that you talk to her. You have shut her out more than you have me.”

“It’s not use to talk to her, Cy. She insults me, I insult her. It’s a vicious cycle. Anyone with eyes can see that we aren’t good together. We’re toxic.” Fitz’s bitter tone surprised Cyrus. He knew that Fitz and Mellie didn’t necessarily agree on many things, but he had never heard Fitz talk about her like that.

“Is that what Olivia said?” Cyrus shrunk back against the chair at the furious look Fitz threw his way.

“Don’t you _ever_ imply that Olivia would be so vindictive. You don’t know her, Cyrus. She never said that. _I_ said that.” He looked down at his hand, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

“You’re awfully protective of her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I have never seen you stand up for Mellie like this.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business what I do and don’t do for Mellie.”

“You’re right. That isn’t any of my business anymore. It’s your campaign manager’s job to present her boss as a happily married man with family values.” Fitz could have knocked the smirk from Cyrus’s face.

“Olivia knows what she’s doing. Believe it or not, there is someone out there who is just as good if not better than you are.”

“We’ll see,” Cyrus shrugged, finishing his drink and placing the glass on the table before standing and heading to the door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he turned to throw over his shoulder:

“But if she was as good as me, she would be here right now.” With that said, he threw the door open and left the room. Fitz glared at the wooden door, feeling drained after his encounter with his (semi) best-friend. The alcoholic buzz in his brain wasn’t helping much, either.

 

 

_“We shouldn’t have done that,” Olivia commented, rubbing her thumb across her swollen, just-kissed lips._

_“Impulse?” Fitz rubbed the back of his head rather sheepishly._

_“You’re married,” Olivia remarked._

_“Thank you Captain O,” Fitz replied somewhat dryly, standing from the sofa and pacing before it._

_“I…I don’t know what to say, here,” Olivia practically shouted, standing and throwing her hands in the air. “We’re friends. **Friends**!”_

_“I’m sorry, Liv,” Fitz tried again, stuffing his hands into his pockets._

_“I need some space…I need some time to think.” Olivia began looking around the room for her coat and her purse._

_“You can’t drive like this,” Fitz stated as she finished buttoning her coat and began searching for her keys inside her purse._

_“I’m fine.”_

_“No you aren’t. Either I drive you home or you’re staying here.”_

_“I’ll call a cab.” He sighed, feeling defeated, but realizing there was no choice other than to let her go. They would have to wait until she had calmed down before continuing their conversation._

 

“You’ve been noticeably absent,” Mellie huffed, sitting up in bed as her husband struggled to change into his pajamas.

“Not now, Mellie,” Fitz snapped, stumbling over his jeans that lay pooled around his feet.

“If not now, then when?” Mellie demanded, watching Fitz struggle to pull his pajama bottoms up around his hips.

“Mellie, shut the hell up.” She looked taken aback, placing her hand on her chest at his words. They had fights, sure, but he never spoke to her like that and never with that hard, menacing glint in his eye.

But Mellie wouldn’t back down. She may have been shocked and the smallest bit afraid of the unknown with this new attitude of her husband’s, but she was not one to run.

“How was your day with your new play thing?” Her voice was sickly sweet, betraying no emotion of a woman scorned. She was hiding well or she didn’t care. If Fitz had to place his bets on one, he would have chosen the latter.

“I told you, I’m not doing this,” Fitz remarked, pulling his shirt over his head and heading toward the door.

Before she had a chance to utter another word, Fitz had walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him, rubbing his head in an attempt to rid himself of the headache that had begun to form courtesy of Mellie, Cyrus, Olivia, and, most of all, the large amount of alcohol he had consumed.

“I’ll tell with it tomorrow,” He mumbled, heading off in search of a comfortable guest bed.

 


	8. They'd Never Believe We're Just Friends

"You kissed him?" Olivia glared at Chloe's all too obvious restating of what she had told her only moments before.

"If you aren't going to contribute anything substantial, then don't speak," she snapped, pulling the plush blanket tighter around her body and moving her mug to her lips. She practically inhaled the tea in her cup, trying to clear the fogginess in her brain from all the wine the night before.

"You're no fun when you're hungover." Chloe pouted, plopping down on the cushion beside Olivia. "And it really isn't fair that you won't get drunk with me, but you did with him."

"You aren't helping things." Olivia allowed a groan to escape as she let her head fall back and hit the soft hardness of the sofa back.

"I'm sorry Liv. It's just so…shocking. Have you talked to him about it?"

"You're the only person I have talked to since this happened. I haven't even looked at my phone this morning. I have been too afraid. One minute we were talking and the next…it all happened so fast."

"What did he have to say after?"

"He apologized." Olivia's dry laugh was the only indication of her true feelings regarding the previous evening's events. She placed her mug on the table before her, pulling her feet under her body after and searching for the television remote.

"No you don't. You aren't running from this conversation," Chloe chastised, snatching the television remote from her friend's hand, "What did you say before he apologized?"

"I said that we shouldn't have kissed and that we were friends."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe that is the reason he apologized? He thought you wanted him to apologize?"

"What makes you think that I didn't want him to apologize?"

"Olivia, I know you too well. Him apologizing hurt you."

"You know what, I think I would rather just sit here and wallow in silence with the comfort of some mindless cartoons, thank you very much."

"Fine, I'll give you an hour." Chloe handed the remote over and watched as Olivia snuggled further into the sofa, hitting the power button and quickly finding Skyland. Chloe shook her head at Olivia's choice of show – a cartoon that had never been very popular in English speaking countries.

Chloe may have been a party animal, and slightly immature for her age, but when it came to Olivia, she was very good at playing the part of mother hen. Working her way through Olivia's apartment, she picked up here and there before finding herself in the kitchen. Throwing the door open to the slate refrigerator, she snorted in derision when she saw the empty shelves. Of all the things that the glorious Olivia Pope could do, cooking was not one of them. Slamming the door, Chloe headed for the island where she noticed a handful of takeout menus. Sifting through them, she finally found a decent place that would deliver breakfast and ordered before heading in search of a charger for her phone.

Olivia was curled into a ball on the white sofa when Chloe passed by – she was asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours and Chloe decided to take that as a small victory. For the moment, Olivia could sleep. Tiptoeing down the hall, Chloe pushed the door on the right open and slipped into Olivia's room. Her charger was where she always had it – on her vanity with her phone currently plugged in. Chloe took one look at the full battery and unplugged it before snapping the end into her phone.

Glancing at the iPhone in her hand, she noticed the multiple messages and missed calls. Sliding her finger across the screen, she unlocked the phone and began going through Olivia's messages – all from Representative Grant. Scrolling through the messages, Chloe felt a smile slowly creeping across her face. At least he was worried about her friend…and apologetic though Chloe had no idea what he could ever have to apologize for. She knew that, despite Olivia's outward appearance of wanting one, she did not want an apology and Fitz was only digging his hole deeper. She had to smile at the way the two were dancing around what Olivia truly wanted and were causing more of a headache by not being forthcoming than anything else. Nothing that was new – Olivia rarely took the easy way out.

Taking a deep breath, Chloe slowly stuck her head out of the room, relieved that Olivia was still sound asleep. She reread the messages from from Representative Grant before tapping the reply button. Saying a little prayer that Olivia wouldn't kill her, she quickly typed out her response and hit send. Setting the phone back beside hers on the vanity, she headed toward the door and the knocking that was coming from it.

"This is good. Thanks Chloe," Olivia said around a mouthful of eggs. Even reheated, Chloe had let her sleep a few hours before waking her, her breakfast tasted delicious. Of course it could be because she hadn't eaten since yesterday.

"I'm glad you're eating." Chloe watched her friend, laughing when Olivia gave her a humorous expression.

"Stop watching me eat. It's unnerving."

"Yes, ma'am." Chloe stuck her tongue out at Olivia, laughing as the other woman shook her head and turned her gaze back to the paper plate before her. Chloe had insisted that there was no need to dirty dishes – citing that she would not be washing any. Olivia watched her wearily as she kept glancing at the door – almost as if she were expecting a visitor. Olivia shrugged it off, worried more with eating than what her best friend had planned.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Olivia's suspicions were confirmed when she heard the heavy knocking on her wooden door. She turned to look at the door and then back at her friend. Chloe was already pushing her chair back and quickly standing, rushing toward the door. Chloe brushed Olivia's gaze off, telling her to finish eating as she reached the door and opened it just wide enough for her to step into the hall alongside Olivia's visitor.

"Olivia isn't going to tell you that she doesn't want an apology so I will. Don't apologize to her. She likes you…more than she's ever going to admit and all you've been doing is digging a hole for yourself."

"Hello?" Fitz looked taken aback, staring down at the short girl before him, babbling away about how he should speak to Olivia.

"I'm Chloe. I was the one who sent the text and asked you to come over." Chloe stood with her hands on her hips, feet spread apart as she looked up at him. Fitz struggled not to chuckle at the stance the tiny blonde was giving him – he doubted she would hurt a fly, but she seemed loyal to Olivia.

"Nice to meet you, Chloe. Can I see Olivia now?"

Chloe looked down at the ground, suddenly realizing there was a catch in her plan. She wasn't sure how Olivia was going to react to Fitz suddenly showing up at her door.

"Let me tell her you're here first…"

"You sent me that text and didn't tell her that you had invited me?"

"I was busy getting her to eat…"

"As long as you had an excuse."

Chloe raised a brow in his direction, unsure of how she was supposed to take that comment. "Excuse me?"

"I'm glad you got her to eat, Chloe."

"I'll be right back." Chloe turned and reentered the apartment to find Olivia throwing her plate away. Olivia turned at the sound of the door opening and gave a questioning look to her friend.

"The visitor is for you," Chloe started, watching Olivia's reaction.

"Why didn't you invite them in?"

"I wanted to give you a heads up first."

"Who is it?"

"Fitz…"

"What? Why is he here? I can't believe the audacity!" Olivia threw her hands in the air, groaning and looking to her friend for advice.

"I sort of invited him here…"

"Why?"

"Olivia, you two need to talk to one another…"

"And say what, exactly?" Olivia crossed her arms as she glared at her best friend. Sometimes Chloe was too impulsive.

"Be honest with him. Tell him what you are really feeling and stop all this overcomplicating things shit. It's making you miserable, Liv." With that said, Chloe turned on her heel and stalked back toward the front door, throwing the black painted wooden door open. Fitz stood on the opposite wall, leaning against the sturdy material, and watching the door. He quickly stood when he saw the door opening.

"Come talk to her." Chloe left the door open as she moved toward the sofa in the living room, flopping down on the soft material and watching Fitz enter the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Both he and Olivia stood watching one another wearily, until Chloe opened the floor for conversation.

"Well, are you two going to stare at each other all night or actually resolve things?"


	9. Nothing More, Nothing Less

"This is awkward," Fitz commented, glancing at Chloe out of the corner of his eye. 

 

"We can go in here and talk," Olivia offered, gesturing toward her bedroom, "but she would only end up eavesdropping."

 

"She's my best friend - and I will not let her screw anything up here." 

 

"At least pretend you aren't eavesdropping?" Fitz suggested, watching as Chloe huffed and turned around to stare blankly at the television screen, her head cocked so that she had one ear aimed in their direction. 

 

"Better?" 

 

"Slightly." 

 

"I don't really know what to say," Fitz began, rubbing the back of his head before stopping to stare at his hands, his brow furrowing with concentration. 

 

"Neither do I," Olivia admitted, bringing a manicured nail to her mouth and nervously chewing at the edges. 

 

"I thought you wanted an apology," Fitz began, holding up a hand to stop Olivia when she opened her mouth to speak. "That is why I apologized in the first place. It wasn't because I regretted what I had done or who I had done it with, but because I thought you wanted to hear it." 

 

"I honestly don't know how I feel about any of this, Fitz. I love our time together -" 

 

"Then don't let this ruin that." 

 

"- but that, this, can't happen. You're married." 

 

"It always comes back to that, doesn't it?" 

 

"I'm not that person, Fitz. I won't be that person. The things that would be said...no." 

 

"Is this about you or about my bid for the governorship?" Fitz raised a brow, leaning against the countertop as he waited for Olivia's response.

 

"Both? I don't want to see you lose, Fitz, so yes that is part of my reasoning, but I myself do not want to hear the things that would be said about me. I have a reputation to uphold - I haven't even graduated and started my career, yet you are already asking me to sabotage it." Olivia crossed her arms, glowering at the man before her with watery eyes. 

 

"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Olivia," Fitz groaned in frustration, raking a hand through his already tousled hair and making to pace around the small kitchen, "I would be lying if I said I don't care for you. God help me. I fell for you without meaning to - I fell for you before I had even realized what was happening. I would never ask you to be my mistress. Think of it as me asking you for a promise."

 

"A promise?" Olivia sounded skeptical, narrowing her eyes at the distraught man before her. 

 

"I want to be with you. I promise that I will be with you...after my divorce."

 

"Divorce?" The shriek in Olivia's voice had Chloe wheeling around on the sofa to stare at her best friend. 

 

"I'm going to file in the morning. Take Mellie by surprise. She'll be too shocked to mount a good defense."

 

"No," Olivia's firm voice shocked Fitz, "This would ruin your campaign."

 

"Olivia, I don't care about the damn campaign. This isn't what I want; this has never been what I want." 

 

"You have a chance to make a difference and you're willing to just give it up?"

 

"For you? Yes."

 

"No. I'm not going to be the reason you lose this election and I refuse to have a lost election on my resume."

 

"If I play nice until the election is over?"

 

"If you play nice until you've won, then yes. Do whatever you want and I'll wait," Olivia felt a grin spreading across her face at the excitement that quickly filled Fitz's, though she was quick to add her other stipulations, "But, no kissing, no holding hands, nothing until this election is over and you've filed for divorce." 

 

"Deal." Fitz held his hand out toward Olivia, waiting for her to shake on her conditions.

 

"You have got to be kidding me." Chloe's voice, dripping with sarcasm caused the both of them to turn around and look at her. "You're going to shake on this like it's some eighteenth century 'I'll give you a goat and you let me marry your daughter' contract? For fuck's sake kiss her and be done with it." 

 

"Not until the election is over," Olivia huffed, glaring at her best friend who only rolled her eyes.

 

"I didn't say you had to go stand in front of a cameraman and jam your tongue down his throat. One kiss to seal the deal. Then you guys can take your damn oath of abstinence." 

 

Fitz looked sheepishly at Olivia before shrugging and leaning in close, waiting a fraction of a second to give her the option of pushing him away, and lightly pressed his lips to hers. The two broke away only seconds later.

 

"I mean, it wasn't like it was a real kiss, but nice start." Chloe shot at the pair before quickly turning her back to them and resuming her paused television show. 

 

"So," Fitz began, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to ignore Chloe's less than amusing comments, "I'll see you in the office tomorrow morning?"

 

"You'll see me in the gym tomorrow morning."

 

"What?" 

 

"Next month, you're going to be participating in a 5k to raise awareness of Cystic Fibrosis. It's not perfect preparation time, but you don't have to win this. You only have to be able to do at least half without passing out - while showing the voters that you are a caring candidate who participates in community activities. So... six am be at the gym and ready to run." 

 

"You're going to kill me before this campaign is over, you do realize that, right?"

 

"You can do it, old man," Olivia winked, giggling as Fitz laughed. 

 

"Not at this age."

 

~*~

 

"Remind me again why I'm doing this?" Fitz huffed, loudly panting as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other on the treadmill. 

 

"You need the votes," Olivia stated simply, her breathing coming only at a slightly increased rate as she effortlessly ran on the treadmill beside Fitz.

 

"So you keep telling me..."

 

"You promised to play nice," Olivia stated, slamming her finger on the stop button and panting slightly as the treadmill came to a halt.

 

"I said I would play nice in front of others," Fitz heaved, stopping his own treadmill.

 

"That wasn't part of the deal."

 

"It should have been..." Fitz trailed, noticing the look that Olivia threw his way and quickly changing the subject, "What are the current polls telling us?"

 

"I don't know. As my gym clothes and body odor should tell you, I've been here all morning - not in the office," Olivia quipped, hoping from the treadmill and grabbing the white towel she had slung over the machine earlier, dabbing at her sweaty neck.

 

"Huh," Fitz said, a smirk playing across his face as he gulped at the water bottle Olivia had tossed at him. 

 

"I'll meet you in the office in about an hour. I have to go home and shower."

 

"I should shower too."

 

"You do kind of smell." 

 

"I mean it is your fault..."

 

"Go," Olivia laughed, swatting her towel at him before slinging the large black duffel bag over her shoulder and heading toward the door. The two parted at their vehicles, Olivia pulling out of the parking lot and heading left toward the center of town while Fitz head right, toward suburbia. 

 

~*~

 

"Where were you?" Mellie demanded the minute Fitz walked through the large French double doors. Fitz stopped in the middle of the foyer and stared dumbly down at his grey sweats before looking at Mellie with a bewildered expression. 

 

"Meeting the president?" He offered, tilting his head to the side.

 

"Don't play dumb." Mellie crossed her arms, an irritable look marring her features. 

 

"Don't ask stupid questions," Fitz retorted, finally pushing past Mellie and heading toward the marble stairs, whirling around to once again face his wife when he felt her hand on his arm.

 

"You were with her." Fitz sighed. All of a sudden, Mellie had taken an interest in the time he was spending with Olivia. It was almost as if she sensed the imminent destruction of her marriage that would occur in about four months time regardless of what she attempted to do to put a stop to it. 

 

"She has a name and she is my campaign manager. We were working on the campaign."

 

"In your sweats?" 

 

"Well, unlike you and Cyrus, she actually tries to get me votes." Without another word, Fitz pulled his arm from Mellie's grasp and stomped up the stairs, heading for his room and the adjoining shower. 

 

~*~

 

"How did gym time with McDreamy go?" Chloe sang from the other side of the closed bathroom door where Olivia was standing under a torrent of warm water, letting it sluice over her tired muscles. 

 

"It was sweaty," Olivia called back, quickly adding, "Do not turn that into something it wasn't!"

 

"You're the one who said it!" Chloe laughed to herself, throwing open her friend's closet doors and looking at the wide array of clothing she had hanging. Sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, she began rummaging through the outfits, stopping on a white Luis Vuitton pant suit and pulling it from the closet. She heard the shower shut off as she was pulling a pair of nude heels from the shoe rack in the back of the closet.

 

"I wish my dad would buy me half of these clothes," she mumbled as the bathroom door swung open and Olivia stepped out, a towel wrapped around her body and her hair slightly windswept from the blowdryer. 

 

"What's this?" She asked, looking at the outfit on her bed.

 

"Didn't you say that Fitz has an interview today and something about a book reading at a library?"

 

"Yes..."

 

"You should wear that, then. It's a power outfit, Olivia, but it's also feminine enough that it doesn't scare everyone off - and white is your color. It is tres chic." Olivia shook her head at Chloe, rummaging in her drawer for nude underwear to wear with Chloe's chosen outfit. There was no doubt that she would wear whatever Chloe laid out for her - she was after all the Fashion Design major. 

 

"Don't change the hair, either," Chloe suggested before heading out the door to give Olivia some privacy. 

 

Shaking her head, Olivia turned toward her mirror and began to dress.

 

~*~

"Does anyone have any questions for Representative Grant?" The greying librarian questioned the assembled group of fourth graders as Fitz finished reading biography excerpts of twentieth century politicians.

 

"Who is your favorite president?" A timid girl in the front asked, watching Fitz as he answered. 

 

"President Kennedy." 

 

"But my mom says you're a republican," this came from a bulky boy in the back who had been rather rambunctious throughout the assembly. He quickly continued his train of thought upon seeing the confused look that crossed Fitz's face. "President Kennedy was a democrat." 

 

"Just because someone is a member of the opposing party doesn't mean that we can't respect them and, at times and on certain issues, see eye to eye with them." The boy lowered his head and narrowed his eyes, thinking about what Fitz had said as out of the corner of his eye, Fitz noticed Olivia giving him the smallest hint of a thumbs-up. 

 

"What's your favorite book? Fictional book?" Another student fired a question and watched in earnest as they awaited a response. 

 

" _Lord of the Rings_.” He didn't hesitate as he named the Tolkien classic trilogy. 

 

"That's a boring movie." 

 

"The movie is a lot different than the books." 

 

"What's _your_ favorite book?" The same girl that had asked Fitz that question had now turned her attention to a flustered Olivia. 

 

“ _Harry Potter_.” Olivia answered as the room broke out in excited whispering.

 

“That’s so much better than _Lord of the Rings_.”

 

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Fitz chuckled as Olivia was hit with a sudden barrage of questions. She nervously answered them, finding her newfound popularity amongst the children to be slightly unnerving. It was a relief when it was finally time to leave the gathering, though she did have to maneuver through multiple handshakes and one hug before she was able to exit the building and exhaustively throw herself in the back of the black, BMW that was parked out front.

 

“You may just have it in you to become a career politician.”

 

Olivia rolled her eyes, turning her attention to the window as the car began moving, “I don’t think so. I’m content to be in the background making everything work. You can be the poster boy.”

 

“Poster boy? Well that doesn’t make what I do sound very important.”

 

“You mean you do something important?” Fitz playfully narrowed his eyes at the look of mock surprise that crossed Olivia’s face.

 

“What’s next on the agenda?” Olivia nabbed her phone from her handbag, pulling her schedule up on the screen before giving Fitz an answer:

 

“You’re free. I’m meeting with Cyrus. We need to coordinate some more fundraisers – try to gain more supporters. I was thinking of a benefit, but we’ll see what he says.”

 

“I told you that I didn’t want you meeting Cyrus without me.” Fitz’s tone was definite and Olivia knew that there was no use arguing with him.

 

“Would you like to come to the meeting, then?”

 

“You’re not going alone. Cyrus can be difficult and I can guarantee he will jump on whatever he can to use against you. He sees you as the enemy.”

 

“I’m the enemy?”

 

“You took his job. You took me.” Olivia turned sharply to look at Fitz, her eyebrows raised in alarm. Her thoughts raced as she imagined what Cyrus could possibly know or think he knew about her relationship with her boss.

 

“Not in that way. Cyrus doesn’t get to make my every decision for me. He’s jealous.”

 

“Regardless, he needs to start doing his _current_ job better than what he is and I will bring that up in our meeting. Your current approval ratings are higher than any other politician’s in this state – fundraising shouldn’t be a problem at all.” Olivia shook her head, opening an email on her phone and nosily tapping out a message.

 

“Be careful when you meet Cyrus. He’s not dumb.”

 

“I never believed him to be. Underestimating your adversaries can lead to a horrible downfall.”

 

“You never cease to amaze me.”

 

~*~

 

“Where is he?” Fitz questioned, seating himself at the head of the large meeting table where Olivia sat to his right, papers, spreadsheets, and a cup of coffee before her.

 

“I told him to meet me here at four. It’s only 3:55. Give him time.” Olivia didn’t move her gaze from the paper before her, continuing to read as the minutes ticked by, the analog clock on the wall ticking as it counted the seconds. “Nervous?”

 

“I don’t like the idea of you meeting Cyrus. I’ve told you that,” Fitz answered Olivia’s question, taking his hand off the table, his incessant tapping having drawn Olivia’s attention.

 

“I _have_ to meet him, Fitz. The two of us need to be able to work together to make this campaign function as smoothly as possible.” Fitz sighed heavily, shaking his head at Olivia as the solid glass door to the room opened.

 

“Having a lovers’ quarrel?” Cyrus’s tone indicated his statement to be anything but a joke as he caught the tail-end of Fitz’s apparent slight annoyance at Olivia.

 

“I would say that you should be accustomed to my occasional aggravation, but when _you_ were my campaign manager, you were stuck too far up Mellie’s ass to ever notice.”

 

One look from Olivia had Fitz clamping his mouth shut as he slumped back in his chair, propping his elbows on the chair arms. Olivia stood from her chair, smoothing her pants before extending a hand toward Cyrus, a peace-offering. Cyrus barely touched the tips of Olivia’s fingers before plopping in the chair across from her, allowing his planner to crash on the glass table.

 

“I’m projecting around a 29,000 donation by the end of this week.”

 

“That brings us to five-hundred thousand for this whole campaign so far, Cyrus,” Olivia commented, pulling a paper toward her, “Fitz’s ceiling is fourteen million. It would be nice to at least come close to hitting that.”

 

“Well, since you are so proficient at running a financial campaign, why don’t you do this job and I’ll take mine back?” The smug look on Cyrus’s face had Fitz’s blood boiling as he opened his mouth – eager to rip his former campaign manager, but quickly cutoff by Olivia.

 

“Unfortunately, Mr. Beene, your former job is _mine_ at the moment. You’ll have to settle for getting to hear my advice every Thursday at precisely four.”

 

For a moment, Cyrus looked like a fish caught out of water, his mouth opening and flapping shut before he turned his attention to Fitz, waiting for the unusually quiet man to have his say.

 

“Don’t look at me. What she says goes – she’s over this campaign now.”

 

“Is there anything else?” Cyrus huffed.

 

“I want you to get in contact with everyone on this list. I have had complaints that you aren’t returning phone calls or emails. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Olivia gave a sickly sweet smile as she handed the list to Cyrus, watching as he tucked it away in his binder. “That’s it. I’ll send an email tomorrow to see where you’ve gotten with the list.”

 

Cyrus gave a smile that resembled a grimace more than anything, before he stood, collecting his binder and marching from the room. Olivia let a sigh of relief out as she began stacking her papers, placing them in her back once she had done so.  Fitz sat quietly, watching as Olivia packed her things. Only when she had stood and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder did she look at Fitz, an amused grin on his face.

 

“I have never seen Cyrus so speechless. I may just have to keep you around.”


	10. Adventure of a Lifetime

**Mid-August; San Francisco Marathon**

“Come on, old man,” Olivia panted, her feet slapping against the blacktop and her ponytail swaying from side to side. There was a noticeable sheen to her skin – the light mist wasn’t doing much to cool her down.

 

“Trust me, I’m trying,” Fitz barely managed to croak. While Olivia made running a marathon look nearly effortless and indeed she had slowed her pace to stay with Fitz for the whole race, Fitz was barely managing putting one foot in front of the other at this point. His shirt was soaked and he was sure there was more sweat than rain running into his eyes. Glancing back at him, Olivia allowed a small smile to grace her lips – he was exhausted, but still pushing himself.

 

“Just around this bend and we’re finished. About another couple hundred feet.” Talking was easier when she wasn’t having to fully exert herself. She slowed just enough to be running beside Fitz, urging him on.

 

Fitz took a deep breath, his lungs burning, as he pushed himself to keep going. Around the bend, he could see the finish line and nearly sighed in relief – a few more seconds and he could stop running. He didn’t know why he had allowed Olivia to sign him up for this. As they crossed the finish line, Fitz swore under his breath when he noticed a journalist running toward him. He needed at least a good five minutes to catch his breath.

 

“Representative Grant!” He grimaced at the loud call of his name and looked in Olivia’s direction. She looked better than him – there was a nice sheen on her skin and she was breathing a little faster than normal, but she didn’t look anywhere near as exhausted as he felt. She was returning from the table that sat off to the side in the grass, two medals and two bottles of water in her hands. She hadn’t mentioned anything to him about the press, although he supposed that he had known there was a high chance that they would be present at the race – Olivia had chosen it for press exposure.

 

“Yes?” He turned and faced the reporter, a young man with floppy brown hair wearing a suit that looked a tad too warm for August weather. His knuckles were white as he held on to the corded microphone in his hand, a cameraman trailing behind him. It took the duo a matter of minutes to set up and face Fitz, the reporter wearing a nervous smile.

 

“Congratulations on finishing the race, representative,” The reporter started off, a slight stutter at the beginning of his sentence that faded as he continued.

 

“Thank you,” Fitz acknowledged, watching Olivia out of the corner of his eye. She stood slightly to the side, waiting for him to finish.

 

“What charity were you running for, representative?” The reporter questioned, that nervous glint ever present in his eyes. No doubt he was excited that he had been the first to approach Fitz and, undoubtedly, be the only exclusive interview of the day.

 

“I was running for the National Brain Tumor Society,” Fitz answered, going over the responses that Olivia had spent relentless hours coaching him on prior to the race – she had anticipated the media presence and interest in his run.

 

“Is there any particular reason you chose this particular charity?” That was a question whose answer he and Olivia had spent nearly an hour arguing over the previous night when he had explained to her why he had chosen the charity. She thought he should give the answer that he had given her, but he had a hard enough time keeping his emotions in check while speaking to her about it, let alone in front of a reporter. He knew Olivia was right, though – giving the real reason would garner plenty of votes, even if they were pity votes. He took a deep breath and answered the question, willing his emotions to stay in check:

 

“My mother passed a few years back from brain cancer. I would do anything to prevent another family from feeling that form of loss.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss. I’m sure she was with you today – once again, that was a fantastic run. Good luck with the election in November.” The man ended the interview abruptly, his eyes slightly waterier than they had been before their conversation. He grasped Fitz’s hand, giving a firm shake before following his cameraman to the news van parked near the sidewalk.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” Fitz wondered aloud, turning to look at Olivia as she handed him his bottle of water. He quickly unscrewed the cap, taking a deep drink of the cool liquid.

 

“Not so fast. You don’t want to puke,” Olivia warned, hanging the medal from Fitz’s neck as he withdrew the bottle from his lips, looking forlornly at the liquid. “You said all the _right_ things. He ended the interview so quickly because he was trying not to cry.”

 

“Me and him both,” Fitz murmured.

 

“She’s proud of you, Fitz.”

 

Raising his water bottle, Fitz gave her a mock toast at her statement, not trusting his voice if he attempted to speak. Olivia’s small smile acknowledged his need for quiet at the moment. The two turned, standing shoulder to shoulder as they watched the next few runners cross the finish line. Olivia had been amazed to discover that she and Fitz hadn’t been dead last – that there were in fact several hundred more runners yet to cross the finish line. She was proud of him; a sentiment she would share later when they were in private. He had been skeptical when she had first mentioned that she had signed him up for a marathon – even if it was just the 5k portion. He hadn’t slacked on any of their early morning trainings. Most of the time he beat her to the gym and was always ready to run, pushing himself to go farther every day.

 

“How much longer are we staying?” Fitz wondered aloud, giving his now empty water bottle a longing look.

 

“The last runner is about twenty minutes out. You’re supposed to give the winner their medal and trophy,” Olivia answered, handing over her half-full bottle and taking Fitz’s empty one.

 

“At least I can always count on you to come through for me,” Fitz chuckled, taking a gulp of water.

 

“You’d think I tried to kill you out there today,” Olivia laughed, twisting the plastic in her hands, “I’m sure Mellie would have given you her water, too.”

 

“Mellie would have drank it even if she weren’t thirsty and then laughed at me as she did so.”

 

“You talk about her as if she were the devil reincarnate.”

 

“You’ve met Mellie. You can’t tell me you didn’t think the same.”

 

“I think she acts like a spoiled little girl who has yet to learn that she doesn’t always get her way,” Olivia mumbled, marching off toward the recycling bin with the empty bottle. Fitz smirked as he watched her toss the empty bottle in the blue bin.

 

~*~

 

“You really don’t like, Mellie,” Fitz stated, watching out the window as Olivia drove toward the office. The medal ceremony for the winner had gone off with only a minor hitch – Fitz had mispronounced the Hispanic winner’s name to the amusement of the crowd and the winner. Any potential anger at the mispronunciation didn’t last for long once Fitz announced that he would be making a monetary donation to the winner’s chosen charity – one that benefited disadvantaged Hispanic immigrants. Olivia called it a win for the Hispanic vote.

 

“She calls me your play thing,” Olivia remarked, hitting the off button on the radio.

 

“Wait. _What_?” Fitz shook his head, looking at Olivia in shock.

 

“You honestly haven’t heard the things that she says in front of the rest of the staff?”

 

“No, I haven’t. Now that I know though, I will take care of it.”

 

“Don’t bother with it, Fitz. Karma’s a bitch and I have my ways of getting even – ones that aren’t obvious and out in the open for everyone,” Olivia winked, moving her hand back to the radio screen and turning it on.

 

_“I was left to my own devices_

_Many days fell away with nothing to show_

_And the walls kept tumbling down_

_In the city that we love.”_

“What the hell is that?” Fitz questioned, reaching forward to turn the radio down, interrupting Olivia’s rendition of the song.

 

“You’ve never heard Pompeii?”

 

“Like the city?”

 

“It’s a good song.”

 

“About Pompeii?”

 

“Sort of. It’s a metaphor.”

 

“How about we don’t listen to music?”

 

“What would you rather do, then?”

 

“Play I Spy?”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Well, no, but I never want to hear that song again, even if _you_ are the one singing it.”

 

Olivia glanced sideways at Fitz as she gently pumped her brakes, slowly coming to a halt at the stoplight before them. His sly compliments still caught her off guard sometimes. She smiled to herself as he dug his phone from his pocket, seemingly oblivious as to what he had done to her with that one simple comment – or unaware of what he had insinuated in the first place. She shook her head, easing her foot back to the gas pedal once the light had turned green. The slight buzzing sound of her phone had her turning her eyes from the highway moments later.

 

“Hey, eyes on the road,” Fitz admonished, grabbing her phone from its resting place in the cup holder and reading her text. “Can you believe the news is already saying McDreamy is going to win the election?”

 

“I’m going to kill Chloe.”

 

“She calls me McDreamy?” Fitz waited just long enough for Olivia to nervously nod her head, “That’s awkward **and** weird.”

 

“You’ve known Chloe long enough to know that pretty much sums her up.”

 

“At least she keeps us updated on your projected approval rating.”

 

“You don’t know what the latest numbers results are?”

 

“I was kind of pushing your butt in a race all morning. Didn’t have time to check in with our numbers guy.”

 

“Sometimes I feel like sarcasm is your only language.”

 

“It makes your day go by faster.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m just saying that I entertain you.”

 

“No disagreeing there, but you could tone back on Chloe interactions.”

 

“You don’t like Chloe?”

 

“She scares me.”

 

~*~

 

“That marathon idea was _genius_ ,” Toby announced, passing papers with printed figures on them around the meeting table. Cyrus’s eye roll didn’t go unnoticed by Olivia at Toby’s praise. _He_ certainly hadn’t been praised by the rest of Fitz’s campaign staff during his tenure as campaign manager.

 

“It really bolstered our numbers this much?” Olivia questioned, staring intently at the paper before her.

 

“You’re surprised? It was your idea.”

 

“And I fully anticipated it to be successful, but not to this extent.”

 

“With these numbers, we’re a shoo-in for the governorship.”

 

“And with Cyrus’s newfound knack for raising funds, we can start rolling out some killer ads. Any ideas for those?” Cyrus looked up in surprise at Olivia’s mention of his name. She rarely brought him up in these meetings and the previous times she had, had all been to publicly shame him. Praise from her was a new thing. Resting his elbow on the tabletop, Cyrus cupped his chin, his beady eyes darting from each occupant of the room as he tried to decipher Olivia’s motives.

 

“I know Fitz isn’t going to like this, but an interview, ad, charity function, _something_ showcasing his support for brain cancer and getting him to open up about his mother would really seal the election for us. The media and voters ate up every last word he mentioned in that brief interview he gave after the marathon,” Toby suggested.

 

“That’s –“ Olivia began.

 

“A great idea. Olivia, how about you speak to Fitz about it?” Cyrus smirked, leaning forward and eagerly watching Olivia’s reaction – he wanted to see her try to wrangle herself from this situation while keeping the ‘nothing more’ than a campaign manager façade.

 

“I think we need to come up with some more ideas. The representative made it quite clear in that interview that he wasn’t comfortable speaking about his mother. I’m not completely ruling it out, but we need something to fall back on if he does refuse to do that.” Olivia raised her brow in Cyrus’s direction, giving a cheeky look as she silently dared him to try and corner her again.

 

~*~

 

“What did you learn?” Cyrus sighed as he stepped into his much smaller office, Olivia had recently been granted his original space, to find Mellie sitting in his desk chair.

 

“It was a meeting about ad ideas – nothing to get excited about, Mellie.” Cyrus dumped his papers on his desk and collapsed in the chair across from his desk, his hands moving toward his tie and undoing the knot there.

 

“This is getting old, Cyrus! Week after week, you come back empty handed. It’s like you’re too afraid to confront her.”

 

“You haven’t gone up against her yet, Mellie. She’s smarter than she looks – and she has a sharp tongue.”

 

“I’m done waiting, Cyrus. I’ll find a way to get rid of her myself,” Mellie huffed, standing and heading toward the office door, yanking it open and flouncing into the hallway. Cyrus shook his head at her retreating back – she was in for a battle of wits that he wasn’t confident she could win.

 

Mellie stomped down the hall, her heels thumping against the carpeted floor. She stopped at the intersection of two hallways, glancing down both as she tried to make her decision – one direction would take her to Fitz’s office and the other would take her to Olivia’s office. She tried to see down the hall toward Olivia’s office, but couldn’t make out if there was a light on or not. She decided on the safest course – Fitz’s office.

 

The door to Fitz’s office was slightly ajar, the warm glow light flooding the dark carpeting in the hall. Mellie slowed her steps as she neared the door, trying to quietly slide along the wall. She would be willing to bet that Olivia was in that room with her husband. She leaned against the wall, tilting her head toward the door and holding her breath as she listened.

 

“I told Toby you wouldn’t like the idea…”

 

“It’s a terrible fucking idea.” Fitz sounded mad. Mellie smiled. So it was possible for him to be upset with Olivia.

 

“That’s why I told him to come up with some other ideas, because I didn’t see you agreeing to it.”

 

“Then why even bring it up?”

 

“As your campaign manager, I’m obligated to bring all ideas to your attention, Fitz…and Cyrus cornered me. I don’t think he thought I would.”

 

“Always so professional.” Mellie frowned – in less than a minute Fitz had gone from sounding upset to making jokes. What was it about Olivia?

 

“In this setting? Yes.”

 

“Then how about we go somewhere that isn’t _this_ setting?” Mellie narrowed her eyes. Was he asking Olivia out?

 

“Fitz…” Olivia’s voice had taken a warning tone that caused Mellie to roll her eyes. She had had an inkling from the moment Olivia had been introduced to Fitz’s team that there was more to their relationship than meets the eye and she didn’t believe for one moment that Olivia was an innocent party.

 

“Just out for dinner, Olivia. We can invite someone else if you’d like. How about Chloe?” Mellie shook her head, this was getting too weird and confusing for her. Who was Chloe? Pushing herself back from the wall, Mellie grabbed the doorknob and threw the door open, smiling in satisfaction at the shocked expressions on Fitz and Olivia’s faces. Fitz was relaxing at his desk and Olivia…Olivia was perched on the corner of his desk. Mellie raised a brow at that sight, her smile growing wider at the look of embarrassment that crossed Olivia’s face.

 

“Mrs. Grant,” Olivia greeted, hoping from the desk and turning to face Mellie, “How are you?”

 

“What are you doing in here, Mellie?” Fitz demanded. He sounded more tired than anything. Mellie pursed her lips – maybe Olivia could serve a purpose after all. It had been a while since Fitz’s anger toward her had been curbed.

 

“Is there something wrong with me visiting my husband?” Mellie tilted her head to the side.

 

“Get ou-“

 

“We were just about to go to dinner. We have some campaign ads to discuss. Care to join us, Mrs. Grant?” That didn’t bode well with Mellie. Olivia was better at appearances than she had thought she would be.

 

“Mellie doesn’t like the _work_ part of campaigns.” Fitz was staring her down, daring her to accept Olivia’s offer. Mellie had to laugh at that one – he should have known better by now. She would do anything to prove him wrong.

 

“I _love_ the idea of getting to work with the _famous_ Olivia Pope.” Her smile was sickly sweet. Fitz sighed, standing from his chair and yanking his suit jacket from the nearby coat rack. Stuffing his arms in the holes of his jacket, he refused to look at Mellie’s gloating expression – undoubtedly a combination of nabbing herself a dinner invitation and Fitz wearing a suit jacket. He knew that if he so much as mentioned Olivia having picked the outfit out for him for a press conference earlier that day, Mellie’s expression would quickly be wiped clean.

                                                                        

“Let’s get this over with,” Fitz grumbled, leaving his office.

 

~*~

 

“I know you said no to our original idea so…we do have an option to leak information regarding Governor Ryan’s mistress,” Olivia suggested, reaching for her glass of wine. Mellie watched Fitz, waiting to see his reaction to _that_ suggestion.

 

“I thought we had a big enough lead that we wouldn’t need to resort to that.” Mellie’s brows furrowed – he _knew_ that was an option all along? She leaned back and crossed her arms. _What kind of game are you playing, Miss Pope?_

 

“Right now, we do. But there are still two months between now and the election. Anything can happen during that time. This guarantees that we keep the lead.”

 

“His wife doesn’t know, Olivia.”

 

“I know how you feel about that, Fitz. Which is why I am glad that Mrs. Grant could join us tonight.”

 

Mellie snapped to attention, her eyes wide and innocent as she watched Olivia. Just what could she possibly want her to do?

 

“You and Mrs. Ryan tend to get along quite well at all political functions you have attended together,” Olivia began, leveling Mellie with her stare, “We need you to go to her and offer our information before it’s released to the press.”

 

“You don’t think she will turn around and release the information herself?” Mellie shook her head – she hadn’t counted on Olivia being so calculating, either.

 

“She won’t have a chance.”

 

“Hmph,” Mellie breathed as she turned her head to look at Fitz. Fitz shrugged his shoulders in response to her questioning gaze.

 

“Whatever Olivia decides.”


	11. Shoutout to my Ex

“I’m not doing this.” Mellie stood resolute, glancing into her study through the small crack in the door.

 

“Mrs. Grant…” Olivia began, crossing her arms as she watched Mellie. She had been bucking against this role she was supposed to play for the last hour or so – bouncing between agreeing to their plan and disagreeing.

 

“I will _not_ do this, Olivia. It doesn’t matter what you say.” And with that, Mellie turned on her heel, flouncing from the doorway. Olivia sighed, rubbing her forehead. _That_ wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She did the only thing she could – she grabbed the file in her hands that was nestled under her arm and threw the door open to Mellie’s study. She would be damned if Mellie’s stubbornness prevented Fitz from doing the one thing that had to be done to ensure he win the governorship.

 

“Mrs. Ryan, it is a pleasure to finally get to meet you,” Olivia plastered a smile to her face, extending her hand and shaking the older woman’s, “I’m Olivia – Fitz’s campaign manager.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’ve proven quite the challenge for my husband’s team.” There was a hint of gratitude in her eyes as she made that statement.

 

“I’m sorry Mrs. Grant couldn’t meet with you today – she’s a little under the weather.”

 

~*~

 

“So, you’re under the weather, huh?” Cyrus goaded, hearing the approach of Mellie’s too-tall heels as he leaned against the wall, effectively spying on Olivia and her little impromptu ‘meeting’.

 

“Wha –“ Mellie started, hearing the voices coming from her study and whirling around on Cyrus, “What is _she_ doing?”

 

“Finishing what you were too weak to even start.” Cyrus chuckled when Mellie glared at him. He didn’t know what had gotten into her lately. There was a point that he could have counted on Mellie to do whatever it took. Not anymore.

 

“What makes you think I would blindly follow her plan?”

 

“Because at one point, you would have noticed that her plan is putting in motion events that **will** guarantee your spot as the First Lady of California.” He shrugged. Mellie had become a liability recently. This latest stunt that Olivia had arranged almost had Cyrus respecting her – she was a more reliable ally than Mellie, at least.

 

~*~

 

“If Mrs. Grant can’t –“

 

“Please sit, Mrs. Ryan. Although Mrs. Grant is too sick to be here in person, there was a very specific reason that she called for this meeting.” Olivia gestured toward the couch, taking a seat beside the other woman once she had.

 

“Our campaign was recently sent an anonymous file. We, thus far, have refused to act upon the information in that file –“

 

“Would it happen to be a file containing pictures and information regarding my husband’s affair?” Olivia sat with her mouth slightly open – shocked. Had she miscalculated? Had that file been sent to the Ryan campaign as well – a way to play the two campaigns against one another?

 

“Don’t look so shocked, dear. _I_ sent that file. I had hoped your campaign would have acted upon that information – were Cyrus Beene still the campaign manager, I am certain it would have.”

 

“Fitz wouldn’t allow anyone to use it, until now.”

 

~*~

 

“Ha ha,” Mellie laughed, smirking at Cyrus, “It’s lovely when Miss Perfect’s world falls down around her.”

 

“Oh for the love of…” Cyrus roughly grabbed Mellie’s arm, yanking her down the hall, farther from the cracked door. Shoving her against a wall, he held her in place as he began talking, “What is wrong with you, Mellie? You have slowly been losing it and now…are you drunk?”

 

“I had a drink, Cyrus. I’m not drunk.”

 

“Oh really?” Cyrus began, releasing his hold and stepping back. Immediately, Mellie began to wobble in her heels, giving up seconds later and kicking the shoes off her feet. “Yeah, you’re drunk.”

 

“I am **not**.”

 

“The Mellie I know, wouldn’t kick her shoes off in the middle of the hall or act like a spoiled little child to the extent that the woman she hates more than anything has to step in and play _your_ part – at which point you then started to act even more like a spoiled child.”

 

“You’re the one who speaks about her like she’s some…some saint or something.”

 

“Right now, she’s a safer bet than you and she’s _in_. You aren’t. This is where our professional relationship ends. From this moment on, I’m with her.” Cyrus turned on his heel, heading down the hallway toward Mellie’s office. He had every intention of being there when Olivia was finished – of being the first person to speak to her.

 

Mellie narrowed her eyes at his retreating back.

 

~*~

 

“You _are_ planning on releasing it then?” Mrs. Ryan sounded hopeful, sitting on the edge of her seat and watching Olivia.

 

“We didn’t want to release it without your knowledge.”

 

“I more than knew of the file and, if it helps, your campaign has my blessing to release it.”

 

“Why?” Olivia tilted her head to the side, twisting her mouth as she thought.

 

“I have no desire to be the First Lady of California, again. It isn’t as glamourous as it looks.”

 

“The media backlash will –“

 

“I am prepared to deal with the media as I have for the better half of my life.”

 

“Your marriage –“

 

“Will be alright. We can work through this, but we cannot if he is still governor. That office has the power to ruin even the best of people. Please, release that.”

 

“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”

 

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and yes.”

 

~*~

 

“We’re releasing that file then?” Cyrus asked as Olivia exited Mellie’s office. She looked up at the older man in surprise, the thick manila folder tucked under her arm.

 

“You were eavesdropping?”

 

“I tried not to, but Mellie came back here, drunk. I didn’t want her barging in.”

 

“That sounds…almost considerate of you, Cyrus. What’s the catch?”

 

“No catch.” He held his hands up, opening himself as if to say, ‘see, no problem’. Olivia shook her head. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in her gut warning her against trusting anything Cyrus had to say.

 

“We release the file,” she sighed. Fitz wasn’t going to like that – he had been hoping that Mrs. Ryan would have thrown a big enough fit to turn Olivia away from that choice. In fact, Fitz had thrown nearly a big enough fit to turn Olivia away from using the file. It had taken much pleading and explaining on her part to make him see the importance in releasing that information. Hopefully, once he discovered that Mrs. Ryan was on board and even _wanted_ that file in the hands of the media, Fitz would be more willing. She sighed when she noticed that Cyrus was walking alongside her.

 

“Don’t you have something to do?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

 

“Right now? I don’t recall you giving me anything to do.”

 

“Shouldn’t you be fundraising or something?”

 

“We hit the ceiling.”

 

“Damn.” That surprised her. Cyrus had been slow on the start when it came to fundraising for the campaign. He apparently was doing better than she thought he was if they had already reached their limit. It was a nice victory to add to her list.

 

“Don’t sound so thrilled.” Cyrus rolled his eyes. There was a lot of work to do if he was going to make her think that she had converted him to her cause. Though in a way, she had. Maybe Olivia hadn’t completely realized her potential yet, but Cyrus saw it – she could be as deceiving as any of them if she chose to be. He followed along beside her, sighing when he saw that she was headed to Fitz’s office. He had hoped she would have made the decision by herself and dropped the file off to their press relations team. She still had some to learn.

 

“Shouldn’t we be handing that file over to Kiara and Albert?”

 

“I have to run it by Fitz first.”

 

“He told you to do whatever you want and she gave her permission, Olivia. Let me take the file to –“

 

“Why are you so anxious to get your hands on this file?” She turned to him, an accusatory glint in her eyes.

 

“I’m anxious to get that file to Kiara and Albert. To ensure that Fitz wins this campaign.” For once, Cyrus was telling the truth. He had no ulterior motive this time – he _wanted_ Fitz to win. He thought he and Olivia would have been in sync for this one.

 

“You can do that,” A small smile filtered across Cyrus’s face for a split second, “ _after_ I speak with Fitz.”

 

With that said, Olivia opened Fitz’s office door and entered, Cyrus right on her heels. He was determined that she release that file.  Olivia squared her shoulders when she saw Fitz and Tyler, a member of the statistics team, pouring over a paper on his desk. He glanced at her long enough to give a small smile.

 

“We’re still ahead in the polls.”

 

“That’s great, Fitz. I spoke with Mrs. Ryan.” That admission was enough to snap Fitz’s attention to Olivia.

 

“Why did _you_ speak with her? I thought Mellie was doing that.”

 

“That was before she found the bottom of a whiskey bottle,” Cyrus shrugged. Olivia shook her head – she hadn’t intended on telling Fitz about that.

 

“What? And why are you here?” Fitz tilted his head in Cyrus’s direction, trying to puzzle the answer to his question. Olivia had made no secret of her dislike of Cyrus and Fitz had felt inclined to agree. In the beginning, he had liked Cyrus. He had been a mentor, a father figure where his own had failed, and he was pivotal in every campaign Fitz had ran. Lately, he had begun to see Cyrus for what he really was – a lying, manipulative man living his dreams through his younger protégée.

 

“I stopped Mellie from barging in on Olivia’s meeting and completely ruining it.”

 

“I don’t understand what exactly is going on,” Olivia stated in response to Fitz’s quizzical look, “but I have bigger things to worry about than him right now. Mrs. Ryan gave us her blessing to release that file.”

 

“That’s…better than I had hoped.” Fitz sat in his desk chair, crossing his ankles and sighing. “Tyler, Cyrus will you give us a moment?”

 

The two nodded. Tyler was out the door while Cyrus dragged his feet ever so slightly, bending to whisper in Olivia’s ear and smiling triumphantly when she allowed him to carry the file out of the office with him. There was no reason for him to stay behind and eavesdrop as long as he had that file; he shut the door firmly behind him.

 

“Before you say anything, Fitz, you may want to send an email advising the rest of our team that no information be given to the press without your consent.”

 

“Why did you give Cyrus that file?” he questioned as his fingers began flying across his keyboard; typing a quick memo to the rest of his team.

 

“I knew he would be standing outside that door eavesdropping if I hadn’t.”

 

“Hm…” Fitz mumbled, leaning back in his chair, “What do you mean that she gave her blessing?”

 

“Apparently she’s the one who sent the file in the first place. She _wants_ us to release it.”

 

“No.”

 

“Fitz…”

 

“No, Olivia. We won’t be that campaign.”

 

~*~

 

“ _What the hell?_ ” Olivia thought, sitting up in bed at the sound of her phone ringing. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she groggily reached for the phone, hitting her knuckles on the nightstand. Cursing, she snatched the ringing phone and quickly slid her finger across the screen, looking at her alarm clock as she did so. _6:45._

 

“Hello?”

 

“I told you **not** to release that file.”

 

“Fitz, I didn’t.”

 

“Then explain why it is all over the morning news. They’ve already decided that I will be the next governor thanks to the sudden, anonymous pictures and texts that they have received.”

 

“Fitz, I –“

 

“I hate what I’m about to say, but I should have thought about this before I asked you to be my campaign manager. I didn’t want you to be corrupted…I didn’t want you to turn into them, but now…you’re fired, Olivia.”

 

She let the phone fall from her hands, bouncing slightly on her mattress. She felt numb inside. Before meeting Fitz, she hadn’t pictured herself having a career in politics, but now…she had _enjoyed_ being a campaign manager, meeting new people, and feeling important. She had thought she was good at her job – had been proud of what she had accomplished. But now…now what did she do?

 

**_ A/N:  _ ** **This was a bit of a shorter, transitional chapter. There was a bit of action in this one setting up the events for later chapters. I hope you all enjoyed – G. xx**


	12. Everytime

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?” Fitz yanked the phone back from his ear; his eardrums ringing at Chloe’s loud outburst. He knew he shouldn’t have answered his phone the moment he saw her number.

 

“I have my reasons, Chloe.”

 

“She has given her all to your campaign and we both know she was the best damn thing that _ever_ happened to it.”

 

“I don’t want her turning into –“

 

“You didn’t even give her a chance to defend herself! Stop being a condescending asshole and go look at the rest of your team for answers. Oh, and when you do realize just how much you have fucked up, remember that Olivia isn’t going to come crawling back – or even _walking_ back – as easily as you’d wish.” The line went silent at the end of that outburst. Fitz sighed, rubbing his forehead. Chloe was hot tempered, but that…that was over the top. A light rapping sound drew his attention to the door.

 

“Have you seen Olivia?” Toby poked his head through the door, looking around the office as if expecting her to pop up out of nowhere.

 

“She’s…” Fitz paused. They were one month out from the election. He couldn’t announce that he had fired his campaign manager without all but saying that he was giving up on his campaign. He would loose every last lead that Olivia had managed to scrape together for him. He didn’t want to see her become what Mellie and Cyrus had become – cold, calculating, _heartless_ individuals, but he didn’t want all of her work to go down the drain for nothing, either. “She’s not feeling well. Won’t be in today.”

 

“Well that’s great. I need her to help find the leak.”

 

“Leak?” Fitz tilted his head. Toby was good at his job; excellent at his job, but he always talked in riddles. Riddles that only Olivia seemed capable of deciphering. Now that she wasn’t here to do that, it fell upon Fitz to complete that task.

 

“Someone made a copy of that file and handed it over to the media. Haven’t you seen the news this morning?”

 

“What do you mean they made a copy?”

 

“Olivia gave Cyrus our only copy of the file yesterday and when he brought it to me and tried to get me to release it, I locked it in my desk like Olivia asked me. She didn’t want it released unless I got confirmation from _you_ that we were going ahead with the release. Yet somehow the media has that file – meaning that some time yesterday before I received it, someone had to have made a copy…or broke into my desk.”

 

The gears practically started turning in Fitz’s head – if Olivia had told Toby to put that file under lock and key unless given permission to release it…then how had it been released? And by whom? He glanced at his phone, the sudden urge to take a hammer to the slim device flashing in his mind as he thought of the long, heated conversation he would have to have with Chloe later. She was going to kill him.

 

“Did Cyrus make a copy?” He had a feeling that the answer was no. If it had been Cyrus, Toby would have lead with that rather than asking for help in finding the culprit.

 

“No one used the copier yesterday and he handed that file to me literally within minutes of Olivia giving it to him. He didn’t have time to copy it.”

 

“Then how the hell was it released, Toby?”

 

“ _That’s_ what I’m trying to figure out,” he tossed his hands in the air, “This would be a lot easier if Olivia were here.”

 

“Well she’s not, so you have me to deal with.”

 

“Oh the joys,” Toby murmured, heading toward the door, “I’m going to go see what I can dig up.”

 

Fitz sat at his desk, tapping a pen against the wooden top. Olivia hadn’t released that file…he’d like to say that knowing that put his mind at ease, but it didn’t. He had screwed up and he knew it. He would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again – or willingly took her position back. He had been so hasty to act – the desire to protect her from becoming the type of person that he had seen politics turn Cyrus and Mellie into causing him to forget that Olivia _wasn’t_ like them. He had wanted to protect her. And he failed.

 

Picking his phone up, he dialed Cyrus’s extension, “Cy, I need to see you.”

 

~*~

 

“Dad, I failed,” Olivia sniveled as she clutched her phone to her ear. Eli’s deep sigh came through the line and Olivia pulled her blanket tighter around her. _She had failed._ There was no way around that conclusion – she had been fired and would not see the campaign that she had been hired to manage through until the end. The file that Fitz had trusted her to protect had somehow found its way into the hands of journalists and any negative consequences would be her fault.

 

“You didn’t fail, Olivia. _He_ failed you. You were too young to be placed in that position and he knew that.”

 

“I _wanted_ it. I thought I could do it and…”

 

“You gave it your all, Liv and you were amazing at what you did do. He should have never expected you to protect that file and he damn sure should not have overreacted it its release. No one knows the damage it has done – numbers haven’t been crunched yet and so long as his campaign is not connected to it in anyway, it shouldn’t hurt his campaign.”

 

“Dad…”

 

“I’m flying out to Kahului tomorrow. If you want, you can come, too.”

 

“I don’t feel like tagging along on a business trip.”

 

“It’s a vacation – not a business trip.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Don’t worry about anything other than packing your luggage. I’ll get the plane ticket and the rooms are already taken care of.” Olivia smiled. She and Eli had a complicated relationship to say the best. They didn’t always get along. More times than not, they were butting heads about _something_. With that said, her father was her biggest supporter. Even when he disagreed with her choices, sometimes to the point that it was borderline hatred, he supported her. He _wanted_ to see her succeed and usually gave her the advice and means to do so. All in all, he was her biggest fan and at the end of the day, they loved each other.

 

“Thanks, daddy. I’m going to call Chloe and ask her to apartment-sit while I’m gone,” she paused at the intense sound of knocking on her front door, “or not. That’s probably her right now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Okay, printsessa.” She smiled as she hung up. Her father had been the ambassador to Russia for as long as she could remember. He’d only returned home earlier that year when the president had offered him a much more prestigious title – the American ambassador to the UN. Russian was the one thing that was entirely theirs. None of the numerous women her father had dated ever spoke the language – giving him and Olivia ample space to have ‘secret’ conversations when she was younger.

 

She stood from her seat, heading toward her door. As she suspected, Chloe stood on the other side with a bag of take-out in her hand. She felt like crying all over again at the pitying look Chloe threw her way, but held her tears in. If she had started crying, Chloe would have gone on a long rant about Fitz in an attempt to make her feel better. It wouldn’t work. She held the door open, allowing her friend to enter and deposit her large, brown bag on the countertop.

 

“I hope Italian is okay? I thought it would go perfect with this Chianti I picked up.”  She held the bottle of wine up triumphantly, smiling at Olivia. Olivia had to admit – Chloe knew the way to her heart.

 

“It’s fine, Chloe. But I can’t get too drunk tonight. Dad wants me to fly to Kahului with him tomorrow. Family vacation. Mind apartment sitting for me?”

 

“And miss out on my dorm room?” Chloe winked, pulling containers of lasagna from the bag and grabbing silverware. “Have you packed yet?”

 

“I was getting ready to – want to help?”

 

“Sounds like old times,” Chloe agreed, waiting for Olivia to pour their wine before taking their food and drinks into her bedroom. Taking a seat on Olivia’s bed, Chloe began digging into her food as Olivia, after setting her things on the dresser, began pulling two large suitcases from her closet.

 

“Does it seem like I’m running away?” Olivia asked, pulling sundresses from her closet and folding them into her suitcase.

 

“It seems like you’re finally doing something for you and choosing to have fun,” Chloe answered around a mouthful of food, “I hate to say it, Liv, but he was an ass.”

 

“I keep thinking that maybe there was another reason?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know…he started acting funny the moment that file was brought to our attention.”

 

“Maybe he has some secrets in his past he was afraid would be brought to light?”

 

“Well that’s helpful,” Olivia huffed, throwing shoes from her closet.

 

“I don’t know, Liv. I’m not going to pretend to be able to read his mind. Not that I would want to. The important thing to remember right now is that you need to focus on yourself. So let’s finish packing and then watch Netflix.”

 

“That doesn’t really solve anything, Chlo. But okay.”

 

~*~

 

“I can’t find anything linking that release with our campaign. How have your endeavors been?” Toby questioned Fitz, entering his office. Fitz glanced up at the sound of the younger man’s voice, rubbing his forehead. His stress levels had only seemed to increase with each passing hour and now that the sky was pitch black outside, he could hardly contain the guilt he was feeling at his overreaction toward Olivia.

 

“I called the news station that released the file. Well, Cyrus called, but I was there and it was on speaker,” Fitz was quick to amend at the apprehensive look Toby gave him, “The reporter that broke the story owed him a favor. Anyway, she wouldn’t name her source, but she did say that it wasn’t anyone connected with my campaign.”

 

“Do we trust her?” Toby asked, seating himself in front of Fitz’s desk.

 

“Yeah, we do.”

 

“Great! I can go home then. This isn’t my problem.” Toby stood, making a beeline for the door.

 

“This isn’t our problem?”

 

“No! We can’t be linked to the release – if anything, this will bolster our numbers. The Ryan campaign is left to deal with the fallout.” With that said, Toby practically ran from the room, leaving behind a decisively guiltier Fitz. He yawned, looking at the time on his phone. It was almost nine – he really should be getting home. Standing from his desk, he had begun collecting his keys and cellphone when the phone on his desk began ringing. Sighing, he sat back down and answered.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Fitzgerald Grant.” Fitz sighed at the sound of Senator Ryan’s tone. The two men were rarely on speaking terms.

 

“How can I help you Bryant?”

 

“We have never gotten along, Fitz, but releasing my private messages and those photos was beyond dirty.”

 

“I never –“

 

“Save your excuses. I’m not going to forgive or forget this.”

 

“I didn’t release anything and neither did anyone from my team.”

 

“No one else could have benefited from that release. Just know, I will find _something._ ”

 

“Maybe, rather than making threats to me, you should focus on your campaign and your marriage, Bryant. How is Debbie handling this news story?” He knew he shouldn’t have, but Bryant had a way of getting under his skin.

 

“Don’t suggest that you know anything about my marriage.”

 

“Are we done yet?” He yanked the phone from his ear, giving the receiver a moment of contemplation after the sound of Bryant slamming the phone on his end. Shaking his head, he decided to let it go and head home.

 

~*~

 

“You have a visitor.” Fitz nodded at his secretary’s comment, sipping on his coffee. It had been late by the time he had gotten home and later still once he had finally fallen asleep. He kept thinking of Olivia and how he was going to apologize. Opening his door, he was shocked at the sight of Debbie Ryan leaning against the large window behind his desk, looking out at the crowded streets.

 

“This is a surprise,” Fitz stated, sitting his coffee on his desk and slipping out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair.

 

“I heard Bryant called you last night. I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry for what? I can’t say I blame him. Even I had thought at first that someone in my campaign had released that file.”

 

“Is that why no one has seen your campaign manager in the last two days? Don’t look so shocked – I tried contacting her before I came here.”

 

“She’s sick.”

 

“Don’t lie to me. I know you too well.” She finally turned around to face him, crossing her arms and looking at him.

 

“I thought she had released the file after I asked her not to.”

 

“She didn’t release that file.” Stepping across the room, she took a seat in Fitz’s desk chair.

 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he shook his head – he really didn’t know why he expected any less from her.

 

“How are you going to make it up to her? She’s one hell of a campaign manager – got you farther than Cyrus ever had a prayer to.” She glanced at the papers on his desk, flipping through them.

 

“I’ll figure that out,” he shrugged, “You released the information, didn’t you?”

 

“I can’t believe it took you that long to figure it out.”

 

“I can’t believe you jeopardized Bryant’s campaign.”

 

“Consider it a favor – I’ve had my turn as California’s first lady. Why the hell he would think I would ever want that position back…”

 

“He’s threating to dig up things from the past.”

 

“He’s not that smart to find any secrets.” She stood from the chair, making her way to where Fitz stood. He froze when she placed her hand on his cheek, slightly caressing the smooth skin there, “It was good to see you again, Fitz. Go get your campaign manager back.”

 

~*~

 

“Have fun, Liv. I’ll take good care of your apartment. Don’t worry.” Chloe reclined on the sofa, flipping through channels on the television as she spoke to Olivia.

 

“Thanks, Chloe. We’re boarding now. I’ll call you when we land.”

 

“Talk to you later.” The two girls hung up and Chloe turned her attention back to the television. She knew she was going to have to go shopping later – Olivia’s refrigerator was completely bare as usual, but for now, she was going to relax. She groaned when she heard a knock on the door. Standing from her seat, she walked the short distance to the door, opening it and frowning when she saw who was standing on the other side.

 

“Where’s Olivia?” Fitz’s question was met by the sharp sting of Chloe’s hand colliding with his cheek.

 

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here. _Fuck off_.”


	13. Forgive Me

****

“Nice to see you, too.” Fitz rubbed his jaw, stepping into the apartment. She had a mean right hook.

 

“You’re wasting your time. Olivia isn’t here.”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“Why would I tell you that?”

 

“Look, Chloe. I know I fucked up –“

 

“Well that’s the fucking understatement of the century.”

 

“Can we be civil?”

 

“I don’t know, can you? You sure weren’t civil with Liv.”  Rolling his eyes, Fitz raked his hand through his hair. He _knew_ he had screwed up and he felt bad about it. He’d been stewing for the past two days, trying to think of something to say to Olivia. A way to apologize for what he had done. In all honesty, he didn’t believe there was a decent way of doing that. Not after what he had done.

 

“Will you fucking listen? I thought she released that file. I thought she was turning into Cyrus and Mellie. My entire political career, I have watched what politics does to my friends and family. It turns them into these unrecognizable, power driven _monsters_ and I didn’t want Olivia to be like them. When I first heard that news report, I tried to rationalize why Olivia would have done that. The only half-assed decent excuse I could come up with was that she wanted me to win – would do anything for that to happen. That terrified me. I don’t want Olivia to do the things that Mellie and Cyrus…hell, that _I_ have done. She’s better than that and, I refused to be the reason she became that person. So I did the cowardly thing and fired her.” He stopped pacing, looking at Chloe for some reaction. She stood by the door, her arms crossed, and her face emotionless. She almost looked bored.

 

“Well, you’re right about one thing. You are a fucking coward.”

 

“For the love of…” Taking a deep breath, Fitz reminded himself to remain calm. He shouldn’t let Chloe get under his skin – she wasn’t the one he had to convince, anyway. “Why are you even here if Olivia is gone?”

 

“I’m apartment setting and I’m pretty sure that keeping assholes out was part of the deal so…”

 

“Exactly what are _you_ doing here, then?”

 

“That’s not fair. You aren’t supposed to have any funny comments. I’m pissed at you. I _can’t_ laugh.”

 

“When will she be back?” Sighing and dropping her arms, Chloe gave up on her defensive stance. It wasn’t getting her anywhere, anyway. She had to admit – Fitz was a bit tenacious. He wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted and, deep down, she had to admit that his reasoning did make sense. Even if his actions had been premature and definitely were the wrong move.

 

“This weekend. Not sure if four days is enough time for you to drown in guilt or not, but…”

 

“Me either, Chloe.”

 

“Hm…remorse. Well that’s a start.”

 

~*~

 

“Seriously? It’s like no one has ever lived here,” Chloe complained, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up on the sofa. Fitz stood in the living room, running a vacuum cleaner over the soft carpet. She yawned; he was loud in the morning. Glancing at the clock, she narrowed her eyes. So what if it was almost noon?

 

“It looks like you’ve gone on a three day rager.”

 

“I was going to clean up.” She stood from the sofa, tossing her blanket on the floor and stretching. Fitz sighed when she headed toward the kitchen, bending to pick her blanket off the floor and fold it.

 

“For some reason, I doubt that.”

 

“Why does she never have any food?” Chloe chose to ignore his comment, complaining about the empty shelves that greeted her gaze when she opened the refrigerator doors.

 

“I was planning on grocery shopping for her when I got finished here.”

 

“Well aren’t you sucking up? I’m not too sure that cleaning and grocery shopping is going to make her come running back to you, though.” Chloe shut the doors, turning and hopping onto the bar stool while she eyed Fitz. He stood with the blanket dangling over his arm, looking unsure.

 

“That’s not all I’m doing. I filed for divorce yesterday.”

 

“What? She’s going to kill you,” Chloe spat, shaking her head at his news. Olivia had worked hard on his campaign and had told him, multiple times, that he had to wait until after the election to do anything about Mellie or risk damaging his chances of winning. She sighed; men did stupid things.

 

“No she isn’t. Let’s just say, Mellie and I have come to an agreement. There won’t be an announcement until after the election.” Mellie had been pissed when he had told her that he wanted a divorce. Her tantrum had been long and intense, resulting in the breaking of several glasses and a threat to call his father to ‘talk some sense’ into him. In the end, Fitz had gotten the upper hand; an upper hand that both Toby _and_ Cyrus had help to give him. Toby had done it for the joy of what he called ‘dethroning’ Mellie and Cyrus…Cyrus would be his chief of staff should he win the election. It was an offer Fitz was willing to make.

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“It’s probably best if you don’t.”

 

“That’s what I figured. Oh well…your life. Anyway, can we go shopping? I’m starving.”

 

“You are a fucking rollercoaster.” He threw the blanket on the sofa, tossing Chloe’s pillow on top of it. She still had one more night of using them.

 

“I take pride in that.” He shook his head. Three days ago, she had been willing to kill him. Hell, this morning she had been willing to kill him, albeit for different reasons. Now, she was ready to go grocery shopping with him. He wondered if that was because she was hungry or if she was as committed as he was to him making things right with Olivia. Something told him it was best not to wonder with Chloe.

 

~*~

 

“Olivia, I’m sorry. I know I’ve called before, and I know I’ve probably left too many voicemails, but I really am sorry. I hope that you can find it in yourself to forgive me – and talk to me when you’re back. Please.” Fitz ended the call, running his hands through his hair. He really did hope that Olivia would call him back. Chloe had seemed somewhat hopeful, more hopeful than she had been, when they had gone shopping. Of course, Fitz had chalked that up to her finally having food at Olivia’s. He smiled at that thought – he really didn’t understand what Olivia had against grocery shopping.

 

“Daddy?” Jerry looked up at his father, his eyes drooping as he struggled to stay awake. Tearing his eyes from his phone, Fitz stood and picked his son off the carpeted floor. The setting sun bathed the office in a warm glow; illuminating the tiny death traps Jerry had spread throughout his father’s office. Fitz was officially on toddler duty – Mellie had refused to watch Jerry during the week. He was sure that was some bid to make his life harder. She knew he spent most of the week campaigning and working on his campaign.

 

“Are you sleepy, buddy?” He asked the small child, cradling him in his arms. Yawning, Jerry nodded his head, resting it against his dad’s shoulder. Rubbing his back, Fitz tried putting the child to sleep. Not everything from his marriage was bad. As Jerry was drifting off, a soft knock on the door startled him. Raising his head, his blue eyes alert, he brought his thumb to his mouth as his dad sighed. To think Jerry had almost been asleep.

 

“Come in.” He let his irritation slip into his voice. It wasn’t easy taking care of a child by himself and, when Jerry did decide to sleep, it was a miracle.

 

“I believe you called…about twenty times.” He whipped around toward the door at the sound of her voice. She looked rested, the beach had done her some good. She wore a white sundress, the informality of it standing out against the stuffy office and his dress clothes. Everything about her was just so…so _Olivia_.

 

“I didn’t think you would answer.”

 

“Chloe told me that I really needed to come see you.” She leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “I think Jerry’s fallen asleep.”

 

He diverted his gaze to his son, smiling at the sight of the little guy with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. He was out of it. Moving toward the blue Pack ‘n Play, he laid the small boy on the mattress, reaching for his blanket to cover him. When he turned around, Olivia was still standing in the doorway.

 

“I’m so-“ Moving into the room, she stopped in front of him, placing a finger on to his mouth.

 

“I know you are.” Dropping her hand, she moved away, putting distance between them. “Chloe said you filed for divorce.”

 

“I did.”

 

“That’s going to be hard to sell before the election.”

 

“No one is going to know before the election.”

 

“You trust Mellie not to say anything?”

 

“I _know_ Mellie won’t say anything.”

 

“What makes you so sure of that?”

 

“We have a deal.”

 

“What _kind_ of deal?” Her dark eyes seemed to burn a hole through him as she awaited an answer. He knew he should tell her the truth. Tell her what he had done and why he was sure Mellie wasn’t going to be a problem. He was also afraid of how she would react once she heard.

 

“Mellie’s been drinking a lot lately.” Olivia scoffed at that statement. She knew Mellie had been drinking a lot – she’d gotten drunk before the meeting she was supposed to have with Senator Ryan’s wife. “I may have convinced her to do an interview this week while she was drunk. And I had Toby keeping an eye on her whenever she was alone with Jerry. A couple times she got drunk and passed out with complete disregard to him. I promised to keep that information from the public if she didn’t release details of our divorce.” He purposely left Cyrus’s part in the deal out of his story. He knew Olivia wasn’t going to like it. She and Cyrus barely tolerated one another.

 

“You’re blackmailing her?” She crossed her arms, shaking her head at that news. He understood why she would sound so disappointed. He had fired her for doing, what he had assumed, the same thing. But has he had explained in his voicemails, she was a better person than him.

 

“You could say that.” He looked at her sheepishly; even he was ashamed when she said it that way. “You know how Mellie is. She won’t fight fair and I’m not going to throw away everything you have worked so hard for a month before the election. Speaking of which…”

 

“I know. You’ve asked me about as many times as you’ve left a voicemail.”

 

“Then what do you say? Are you willing to take your job back?” He gave her a sly, hopeful smile.

 

“I guess.”

 

~*~

 

“Stop pacing. _You’re_ making _me_ nervous and I’m not the one running,” Toby scoffed, shaking his head at Olivia. She’d been pacing the floor for the past half-hour – since the polls had closed. She stopped, glared at Toby, and turned her attention to the television. It shouldn’t be taking this long. It was all digital, the votes should have been in almost instantaneously. Unless…unless it was too close to call.

 

“I feel like she’s more nervous than I am,” Fitz commented, relaxing on the leather sofa, his eyes glued to the television.

 

“Both of you are annoying,” Olivia accused, jumping when she felt someone tap her shoulder.

 

“Have a drink and calm down,” Cyrus stated, handing her a glass of wine. She eyed the glass and its contents suspiciously – Cyrus was in a good mood. She expected him to be as nervous as she was. He had been boasting about the possibility of working for Fitz as his chief of staff. Olivia hadn’t had the chance to ask Fitz if that was true. Either way, she expected something more from Cyrus than the outward calm he was projecting.

 

“Hey, they’re getting ready to call it,” Toby announced to the crowded room, turning to the television as everyone grew silent. They watched with barely contained anticipation as the newscaster began speaking:

 

“With 4,388,368 to 2,929,213 votes, California officially has a new governor. What started out as a tight race between former governor, Senator Bryant Ryan and representative Fitzgerald Grant, has turned into a landslide victory for the representative. Fraught with scandal in the last months of the election, Senator Ryan never could regain his popularity in the po-“

 

“We won!” Toby announced, causing his coworkers to laugh in relief.

 

“Congratulations, governor,” Olivia said, smiling at Fitz. He took the glass from her hand, sitting it on the coffee table, before yanking her into his lap. In front of the crowded room of his campaign workers, his lips found hers – kissing her deeply and without restraint.

 

“Holy shit,” Toby deadpanned at the cheers of his coworkers, watching his boss.


End file.
